


Ginger & Mint

by Myxini



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, Magic School, Multi, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, it's sort of a plotty fetish fic?, set in a semi-dystopian magical universe? idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 68,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myxini/pseuds/Myxini
Summary: Welcome to the Oppendorff School of Digestive Magic, where mages cast spells by eating enormous amounts of food.Grayson Ives is living an austere life as a hunter when he’s tapped to train as a digestive mage. Unused to so much food, his belly struggles to keep up with his studies. Luckily, he has new friends and an entire facility dedicated to stomach-soothing to help him out. Over the course of the year, Grayson and his classmates learn spells, search for love, and uncover a few dark secrets—and of course, get really full, achy bellies in the process. Thisisa kink fic, after all.





	1. The Purple Envelope

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all, this is basically a story and universe conceived purely for the indulgence my stuffing / belly kinks. Thought I’d publish it here so that those of you who are similarly kinkily-inclined can enjoy it.
> 
> This is not a weight gain story, but characters will remark on each other’s body types and eating habits, often in unhealthy ways. So anyone with sensitivities re: body image and food consumption may wish to be mindful of this.

Grayson knew something was wrong even before his hand touched the latch of the back gate. His family’s small wooden cottage looked exactly the same as it had when he’d left two days ago. But he could sense something—a strange air of unease, hanging thick in the morning mist.

He put the carcass of the poor little doe he’d killed the previous night on the workbench in the shed, where it would wait to be stripped of its meat and hide. He laid his pack down in the yard, took off his muddy boots, and went in through the kitchen door.

It was breakfast time, and Grayson’s mother, father, and two sisters were gathered around the kitchen table, eating from plates of unleavened bread and dried meat. They glanced up at his entrance. His father’s face was stony. His sisters looked at him like he’d grown fangs.

“Hello,” said Grayson nervously. “I brought back a deer. Um… is something wrong?”

“On the counter,” said his mother. “It arrived yesterday.”

Grayson’s mouth went dry. Lying on the counter was a purple envelope.

Like all young adults in the kingdom of Zlott, he’d submitted himself to the Royal Examination of Magical Potential on his twenty-first birthday, back in February. The process was routine—a rite-of-passage, almost—and generally went like this: you were poked and prodded with strange wooden wands; you were given small cups of vinegar, oil, and water to drink; then you were made to repeat incomprehensible words, draw complex symbols, and imitate strange gestures, all while an examiner peered intently at you. And then it was over, and—usually—you never heard anything from the Royal Examiners again.

Unless you were one of the rare few who got a colored envelope.

He picked up the letter, opened it, and pulled out the sheet of stiff paper within. “Dear Grayson Ives,” he read aloud. “The Royal Examiners have determined that you have potential in the field of digestive magic. You are hereby ordered to report to the Oppendorff School of Magic by the 1st of September to begin your education….”

Grayson’s father made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat.

“How do you explain this, Grayson?” said his mother. “Why would they pick _you_ to become a di-mage?”

Grayson turned to face them. He could feel his face flushing. “I—I don’t know how the exam works. I don’t know how they make the decision. But I promise, I don’t eat any more than anybody el—”

“For generations, the Ives family has hunted in this wood,” his father interrupted coldly. “For generations, we’ve scraped our living from the blood and flesh of the land. We are tough and proud of it. We need to stay strong and slim to succeed in the hunt and survive another year. It goes against everything we stand for to take too much pleasure in our fuel.”

“I swear, I don’t!”

His father ignored him. “I can’t say what you’ve been doing behind our backs to make the king’s examiners believe you could glut yourself for a living. But I can say this—no son of ours is going to become a di-mage.”

“I have to go to this—this Oppendorff school,” said Grayson weakly. “It’s illegal to ignore the letters. I’ll be arrested and sentenced to death if I don't go.”

“We know you have to go to the school,” said his father. “Just don’t bother coming back.”

Grayson’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked to his mother pleadingly.

She returned his gaze unsympathetically and said, in a voice as cold and piercing as a winter wind, “We did not raise you to be a glutton.”

\---

Ben, Grayson’s lifelong friend and occasional lover, laughed when he heard that.

“You? A glutton? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat more than a few mouthfuls at once!”

“That’s because I don’t! I only eat what I need to survive. Creator knows that as much as I hate being a hunter, I’ve always tried to be a good one!” Grayson prodded another log into their campfire with the end of a stick. Even in mid-August, the air beyond the puddle of orange light was chilly. Such was the climate of the Blue Hills—cold and harsh, like the majority of its inhabitants.

Ben was a notable exception to that rule, which was a major reason why Grayson liked him so much. His eyes were full of earnest sympathy as he said, “They really told you not to come back?”

Grayson nodded. “We fought about it for awhile. But they just wouldn’t believe that I haven’t been—I dunno, gorging myself behind their backs, or—or taking too much pleasure in my food in some way the government can see.” He sighed, staring into the flames. “I honestly don’t know why I got that letter, Ben. There must’ve been some mistake.”

“My ma says it’s myth that the amount you eat has anything to do whether or not you have potential in digestive magic,” said Ben sagely. “People just like to imagine di-mages as fat, lazy slobs because it’s a funny stereotype. I’m sure there are fit di-mages, just like I’m sure there are stupid thought-mages and song-mages who are terrible at singing…. Is any of this making you feel any better?”

“Not much.”

“Okay, then how about this—you’re gonna be a magician, Grayson! You’re gonna see and learn things that the rest of us can only dream of! And it’s your road out of here. We both know that you never wanted to be a stuck in the Blue Hills forever, tearing the guts out of helpless animals to survive.”

That made Grayson smile slightly. “That’s true. I just…. Why a digestive mage, of all things? Even the name of the place I have to move to sounds stupid. Oppendorff. I mean, come on.”

“I hear they have warm summers up there. And beautiful snowy winters, not like the rain and sleet we get here. And of course, the food is supposed to be rich and delicious.” Ben grinned. “You think you’re gonna be able to take advantage of it? How much _can_ you actually eat?”

“No idea.”

“You’ve honestly never tried eating until you couldn’t? Not even on holidays?”

Grayson shrugged. “Like I said, I always tried to be a good hunter.”

Ben looked down at the small bundle of food and the big steel pot they’d brought with them. “Why don’t you try now? We don’t have much if we just roast the meat and boil the vegetables, but we could make lots of soup.”

Grayson laughed heartily. Then he frowned when he realized Ben was serious. “What, you really want to see me try to gorge myself on soup? I’m sure it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.”

“I just think you should probably try overeating at least once in your life before you go to Oppendorff to be di-mage.”

“I… yeah, I guess so. But….” Grayson hesitated. Shame prickled in his guts.

Ben, seeming to read his mind, added, “You’re not a hunter anymore, are you?”

“No.” Grayson was suddenly filled with defiance. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

They filled their pot with water from a nearby stream. Ben contributed vegetables from his parents’ shop and Grayson added chunks of venison from the deer he’d brought home only that morning, which his parents had allowed him to take as a sort of parting settlement. They seasoned the broth with the little salt Ben had and some juniper berries that Grayson found nearby. Then they settled back to talk and laugh, as old friends do, until the soup was ready.

The broth was thin and could’ve used more salt, but it was hearty with meat and vegetables. Grayson finished his first bowl quickly. He felt perfectly satisfied after, but Ben ladled another helping for him. The second bowl went down more slowly, both because of the full stomach and the lingering feeling that he was doing something disgusting and wrong. He tried to convince himself that he was enjoying the thrill of rebellion, but honestly, he felt a lot more guilty than liberated.

Grayson had only taken a couple mouthfuls of his third bowl when he put down his spoon, hiccuping and groaning. “Ooh… I can’t eat anymore.”

“Really? That’s it?” Ben peered at how much he had left. “Can’t you finish the bowl, at least?”

“No.” Grayson put a hand against his stomach. It felt swollen and tight. “I’m so full.”

“You can’t stop there. I’ve heard these di-mages can eat whole roast pheasants, Gray! Loaves of bread. Tureens of soup.”

“Ughhh… I just _can’t_.”

“Let me help.” Ben knelt beside him and took the bowl from his hands.

“Ben—” Grayson protested weakly, but the bowl was already pressed between his lips. He swallowed with difficulty as broth was tipped into his mouth. His stomach groaned as it struggled to find room for more.

Ben let the empty bowl fall into the dirt. “You all right?”

“Ooh…” Grayson was dizzy with fullness. He swayed, the effort of sitting upright too painful for his overloaded belly.

Ben caught him and eased him to his chest, letting him lean there woozily. “All right, take it easy…. You’re gonna explode at this school, Gray.”

“Probably,” said Grayson miserably. He pressed a hand against the hard curve of his throbbing belly. “Oofff, that was too much. My stomach hurts….”

Ben’s hand slipped up under the fabric of Grayson’s shirt. Rough, gentle fingers stroked along the stretched skin. Grayson groaned and belched at the pressure.

“Oh, you _are_ really full,” said Ben, rubbing gently over the tight bulge where all the soup had settled. “Poor thing. I can feel your stomach churning.”

“Oooh, so can I.” Grayson belched again. “Ugh. Think I’m gonna have a bellyache all night.”

“Does it hurt worse when I touch it?”

“No. It feels— _urrp_ —better when you rub it, actually.”

“Then I’ll rub it for you all night.” Ben’s free hand wrapped itself tenderly around Grayson’s fingers. “You can come back with me to my parents’ place. They won’t mind. My ma will make you some tea with mint, that’ll help settle your stomach.”

“Mmm. Sounds great. But I think it’ll be— _hic_ —a couple minutes before I can stand up.”

They sat cuddled together in the dark, silent woods as their fire burned down to embers.

“Don’t let your parents get you down,” said Ben eventually. “This is a great opportunity. You should be excited.”

“You’re right.” Grayson paused. “Wish I could take you with me, though.”

Ben sighed quietly and pressed a kiss into Grayson’s hair. “Yeah. I’ll miss you too, Gray. I’ll miss you too.”


	2. Welcome to OSM!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grayson arrives in Oppendorff and encounters new friends and a lot more food.

The last weeks of August passed in a strange blur. Grayson stayed in town with Ben and his parents, spending his days helping out at their shop. He only returned home once to pack up his few belongings. None of his family would even look at him.

Ben convinced him to try eating to his limit a few more times. It didn’t get any easier, not in any sense. Guilt still prickled in the back of Grayson’s conscience with every unnecessary mouthful. His stomach still got achy and upset each time he overfilled it.

The night before he was set to depart, Grayson managed to finish a piece of apple cake on top of two bowls of thick stew, and went to bed bloated and groaning. The ache of fullness was still there when he woke up the next morning. He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he was dressing and paused for a moment to look, noticing the way his belly was pushing out slightly above the bones of his hips. It looked bizarre and unnatural on the hard, lean lines of his hunter’s body.

Ben appeared at his reflection’s shoulder. “Hey. You want breakfast before you leave?”

“Ugh. No. Look at this.” Grayson poked his swollen belly gently. “I’m still trying to digest from last night.”

Ben laughed and said, “I’ll pack you something for the road, then.”

Grayson smiled and tried not to think about how much he was going to miss Ben.

They said goodbye at the station on the edge of the town, where an ancient rumbling bus arrived to take Grayson into civilization.

\- - - 

Grayson had never before used any mode of transportation besides his own two feet. He watched out the window, fascinated, as the landscape rushed by. Dense pine forests gave way to open, rolling fields. The winding dirt roads became wide tracks of cracked asphalt.

After an hour, the bus pulled up at a shabby train station. Grayson boarded the train waiting at the lone platform. When the conductor came around, he produced his purple envelope. It was not, technically, supposed to replace a ticket, but it was a well-accepted practice that mage recruits obeying their summons to school could travel for free.

“Oppendorff, huh?” said the old conductor with raised eyebrows. “You’re awfully scrawny for a di-mage.”

Grayson felt himself flush. It occured to him that this conductor must have seen dozens of students pass through his train on their way to Oppendorff. “Are di-mage recruits always—um—bigger?”

“Ehh. Not really.” The conductor punched a hole in the corner of his envelope. “Good luck, kid.”

Grayson sighed and leaned back against the threadbare seat. He was about to try taking a nap when, further down the carriage, he spotted a woman around his own age. She was dressed for a long journey, wearing a traveling cloak despite the summer warmth and surrounded by several large bags. She clutched a crumpled purple envelope.

He shouldered his pack and approached her. “Hi. Can I join you?”

“Uh, I guess so.” She nudged her bag aside with a foot and looked at him suspiciously. “But why? There’s a lot of free seats around here.”

He held out his own envelope. “I guess we’re going to the same school.”

“Oh!” Her face split into a brilliantly white smile, all the brighter in contrast with her dark skin and the deep brown curls that formed a cloud around her head. “That’s great! Sorry for the unfriendly welcome. It’s been a long trip.”

She was a big woman, taller than Grayson by several inches and as thick around as a barrel. Her sides bulged with flesh and her arms bulged with muscle. She looked, Grayson thought without judgment, like someone who could be a di-mage.

“Have you come all the way from Sumoria?” he asked, guessing from her complexion and the quality of her accent.

She nodded. “Let me tell you, it takes _forever_ to get all the way from Zlott’s southeastern corner to its northwestern one. And you, you must be from around here?”

“Not so far away.” He wasn’t surprised she could tell. He had what people often thought of as a typical Hill Country coloration—dusty brown-blonde hair, skin roughly the same color, and pale eyes. “I’m Grayson Ives.”

“Kara Baker.” She took his hand shook it firmly. “Happy to meet you. You can sit with me, of course, but you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit quiet. It’s been a long time since I slept.”

Her definition of “quiet” made Grayson wonder what she considered a talkative mood. Over the next half hour, he learned more about Kara than he knew about most people in his village. She was, as her name suggested, a baker—her family had been producing the best bread in the Sumorian city of Ayaladi since before the Joining of the Kingdom. She had three sisters and five brothers and more cousins than Grayson could keep track of, and they had all gotten together to bake her a fantastic cake in celebration of her magical potential—seriously, it was enormous—he should’ve seen it!

Grayson didn’t mind the chatter. He really didn’t feel like talking about himself, so every time she slowed, he prompted her with another question. He took a liking to Kara quickly—she was friendly and easy to listen to. The hours slipped by in comfortable companionship.

Snow-capped mountains appeared on the horizon sometime in the late afternoon. The landscape began to undulate as the train moved into the foothills. They passed shimmering lakes, wild ridges covered in spruce and pine, the mottled rock of bare cliff faces.

Soon the train pulled into the city of Oppendorff and they disembarked. Grayson nearly panicked in the press of people at the train station. It was no better when they made it out the front doors. In all directions, there was noise and color and movement—streets bristling with soaring pastel buildings, the clatter of horse hooves and cartwheels on cobblestones, the rumble of automobile engines, and the clamor and bustle of people—so many people, more people than he had ever seen in one place.

“This is the ass-end of nowhere,” said Kara with a sigh. “I bet this whole city could fit inside my neighborhood.”

Grayson stayed close by her side, overwhelmed and awestruck, as she flagged down a horsedrawn cab and instructed the driver to take them to the magic school.

\- - -

The school sat high in the hills overlooking the city, with its back to the dense forest that crept further up the slope. It was built of wood. Grayson, who had seen pictures of the splendid towers of the thought-mage school in Kimbaza and the ornate facade of the sign-mage school in Ilkington, had expected a big stone castle. But this looked more like a log cabin, albeit a massive one built with logs thicker than a man was tall. The orange light of sunset flashed off its hundreds of glazed windows.

On the drive, three figures waited. Two of them were carrying bags and glancing around with the unease of people in an unfamiliar place. The third was a thickset man who looked like he’d never had a care in the world.

“…And that makes four!” he said as Grayson and Kara approached. “Perfect! No stragglers this year. I can tell you’ll be a clever bunch.”

He smiled at them, and it was a kind and gentle smile, but uncomfortably knowing, as if he could somehow read each of their life stories just by looking. It made him seem like a wise old man, although the rest of his appearance suggested that he was in his early thirties at most. He had the same dark coloration and rhythmic accent as Kara. He wore his hair in thick, neat ropes that fell well past his shoulders.

“Welcome to the Oppendorff School of Magic,” he said, “or OSM, as we like to call it. My name is Ryder. I’m here to give you a short orientation. If you’d all follow me inside….”

\- - -

Grayson and his new classmates followed their guide along a series of narrow corridors lit by dim yellow lamps. Their footsteps fell softly on the thick, dusty carpet.

They were ushered into a large room paneled in dark wood. A heavy table sat in the middle of the floor with four chairs surrounding it. Ryder gestured, indicating that they should sit. Then he stood at the head of the table and took a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket.

“Kara Baker?” he said.

“That’s me,” said Kara.

“Grayson Ives?”

“Here,” said Grayson.

“Malia Pikolt?”

“Present,” said the petite, delicately-featured woman who sat opposite Grayson. Even after a day of traveling, she looked bright and attentive. Not a strand of her shiny black hair was out of place.

“Bramley Nubbins?”

The final student was a hulking slab of a man, so big and muscular that his shirt seemed ill-equipped to contain his torso. At the sound of his name, his face flushed all the way from his chiseled chin to his shock of blond hair and he said, very quietly, “Yes.”

“Lovely! Everyone who’s supposed to be here is here, and nobody is here who should not be here. That’s a nice situation to find ourselves in, isn’t it?” Ryder surveyed them with another eerily pleasant smile. “Now, I expect you’ve all had a long journey. So let’s start with something we take very seriously around here—dinner.”

He clapped his hands and a full table setting suddenly appeared at each chair. “Try to finish everything you’re given. We _are_ di-mages, after all. I’ll be back to check on you in an hour. Eat well, students!”

\- - -

It was a lot of food. Grayson had expected that, but still, the sheer volume was shocking. On his plate was a small mountain of mashed potatoes and a heaping serving of roasted carrots. Next to it was the biggest chicken breast he’d ever seen, crusted in herbs and salt, and two slices of thick dark bread. As if that wasn’t enough, he’d also been given a cup of something he didn’t recognize. It looked like thick yellow cream, topped with golden syrup and a handful of blueberries.

He poked his fork into the pile of potatoes and took a careful bite. The taste was incredible, rich with salt and butter and cream. He shivered with pleasure and eagerly cut a piece of chicken. That was superb too. The meat was tender and juicy, the herbs fresh and flavorful. This was needlessly luxurious food, designed for indulgence. He ought to have been repulsed, but he wasn’t. It was just so good.

Maybe he _could_ be a di-mage after all.

“This food is amazing!” said Malia, breaking the silence. “The kitchens certainly don’t cut corners around here.”

“Eh, I’ve had better bread.” Kara tore one of her slices in half, inspecting the crumb critically. “But you’re right. The rest is fabulous.”

“There’s even caramel pudding.” Malia lifted the cup of thick cream. “An Oppendorff speciality. I’ve tried it before—but never anything this authentic, of course.”

“Never had it.” Bramley poked the pudding with the tip of his spoon. “Rest is like the food at home, though.”

“Grayson seems to be in heaven,” said Kara with a laugh. “You ever tasted a potato before or what, Ives?”

“Potato? Sure.” Grayson swallowed his bulging mouthful. “Not often, though. We ate mostly dried meat and flatbread. And turnips, because we grew those behind the house.”

“Really?” said Malia with raised eyebrows. “You poor thing.”

Grayson shrugged. “It was always enough. Oof.”

Now that he’d paused, he noticed for the first time how heavy his stomach felt. He was a little more than comfortably full, with a touch of indigestion from the richness of the food and how quickly he’d been eating. He slipped a hand under his shirt. His belly felt hard and slightly swollen.

He hadn’t even cleared a quarter of his plate.

He waited a couple minutes, hoping the food would go down a little. When it didn’t, he steeled his resolve and dug back in. He had a strategy now—finish the chicken first, because meat always settled the heaviest. Then the carrots, then the pudding, and finally the potatoes, because those were so good that Grayson was sure he could eat them even on the verge of exploding.

He wasn’t so sure of that fifteen minutes later, when half his plate was gone. The food had stopped tasting good. It all felt like glue on his tongue. His overfull belly stirred unhappily, wondering if it wasn’t getting the message across that it was done. Back with Ben, he would’ve thrown in the towel here, but he dreaded the thought of Ryder returning and seeing he’d barely eaten half his dinner.

Bramley finished eating first. He laid his fork and spoon neatly across his empty plate, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, and sighed.

“Impressive,” said Kara appreciatively. “Remind me not to go head-to-head with you in an eating contest.” She was almost finished too, with only a few spoonfuls of potato and her caramel pudding remaining.

Grayson forced down the last of his carrots and was just about to start on the pudding when he realized he’d forgotten his bread. He groaned, picked up the bigger of his two slices, and stuffed it down to his belly before he could think too much about it. He was starting to feel seriously sick from how much he’d eaten.

He wasn’t the only one struggling. Across the table, Malia was shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Oh Creator,” she muttered. “I think my tummy’s going to burst.”

“Mine too.” Grayson stifled a burp on the back of his hand. “Oooff. Where do you guys put it all?”

“Come on, you two!” said Kara encouragingly. “You’re almost finished!”

Grayson groaned and took a bite of caramel pudding with dazed determination. It could’ve been delicious under other circumstances, but right now it tasted slimy and sickly sweet. He ate with one hand on his belly, carefully rubbing the mass of food that was aching inside him. He was so full that he could feel his stomach contents shift and fight for space with each swallow, sending little tiny belches gurgling into his throat.

A few minutes later, Malia dropped her spoon. “Ohhh,” she groaned. “Done!”

Grayson tried, he really did. Wasting food was even more morally reprehensible to him than overeating. But in the end, he had to leave the final slice of bread and a dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate, because he was sure he was on the verge of throwing up. He leaned back in his chair and pressed both hands against his swollen stomach, trying to settle it. It let out an unhappy gurgle.

Kara looked at him with concern. “You okay?”

“B-Barely.” His stomach rumbled again, making him belch. “I can’t— _urp_ —eat anymore. Oh Creator, my belly….” He rubbed it gingerly, trying not to be disgusted by how enormously round and swollen it was. “I look like I— _urp_ —swallowed a melon.”

“Ha! Me too.” Kara leaned back. Her full stomach was bulging against the buttons of her shirt, so much so that flashes of her skin were peeking through the gaps.

Grayson’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t that— _urp_ —hurt?”

“Nah.” She shrugged, patting her stomach contentedly. “It feels good, being this full. Too much food makes you warm and sleepy.”

Grayson wished he could agree. He wasn’t sure how much sleep he was going to get tonight, what with the state of his digestion. He was feeling more nauseated by the minute.

Just then, the door creaked open and Ryder stepped through. “Hello again, students! Did you enjoy your meal?”

“It was delicious,” said Malia politely. “But—maybe a little too much.”

“Really?” Ryder turned his inquisitive gaze on her. “How are you feeing, Malia?”

She hiccuped weakly and said, “Not… so good.”

“Hmm. Drink this.” He drew a glass vial of yellowish liquid from his pocket and set it on the table in front of her. “And you, Kara? You look all right.”

“I am,” she said cheerfully. “Really full, but I feel fine.”

“I see. And you, Bramley?”

“I could eat more,” said Bramley.

“Good man! And _you…._ ” He rounded the table to crouch down beside Grayson, who was trying to breathe through the feeling that putting air in his lungs might make his straining stomach explode. “You look awful.”

Grayson was a little afraid to open his mouth, so he just groaned. His belly echoed the sentiment with another low, aching gurgle.

“Feeling sick?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Here.” Ryder placed a vial in front of him. “Drink.”

Grayson’s stomach shuddered at the idea of another mouthful. “Can’t,” he groaned. “Too full.”

“Trust me, Grayson. Drink it. You’ll feel better.”

Malia had already drained her vial and was getting some color back in her cheeks. “What is that?” she said, sitting up straight.

“We call it tonic. It’s magical medicine, concocted from the two plants that di-mages owe their careers to: ginger and mint. I brewed it myself.” Ryder retrieved a wheeled blackboard from the back of the room, pulling it out into the light. He picked up a stick of chalk and wrote 1. SOOTHING ROOM near the top of the board in big block letters.

“This is the first thing I want to tell you tonight,” he said. “Over the course of your education, you’re all going to suffer your share of bellyaches and stomach upsets. That’s inevitable in this line of work. When you need relief, come see me in the Soothing Room. It’s the big blue door off the third floor corridor—you can’t miss it.” He looked pointedly at Grayson. “Drink your tonic, Grayson Ives.”

Grayson blew out a slow breath. With a great effort of will, he twisted off the vial’s cap and swallowed the liquid. It ran down his throat, oily and cool. The instant it hit his belly, the churning inside him settled and the aching numbed.

“Oh,” he gasped.

Ryder’s lips quirked up. “Better, isn’t it? Now….” He turned back to the blackboard and wrote 2. NO SECRETS.

“The four of you are going to go through a lot together. Digestive magic is physical work. You’ll see each other in pain. You’ll probably see each other puke once or twice. It’s going to be gross, embarrassing, and tough. We have a saying at OSM: no secrets between classmates. Trust each other absolutely and you will not only become talented di-mages, but also friends for life.”

The third point—3. QUARTERS—made Grayson sigh longingly. Even with the tonic in his system, his stomach still felt uncomfortably big and heavy. He was looking forward to going to bed.

“All the living quarters at OSM are in the Eastern Wing,” said Ryder. “Your class will be taking over the Saffron Apartments. You will find your keys waiting in your rooms. And finally….”

He wrote 4. ORIENTATION WEEK and brushed the chalk dust from his hands.

“You have a simple itinerary this week, students. Tomorrow—Tuesday—is free for you to get your bearings, explore the school, and get to know one another. On Wednesday, you will have a small evaluation. It’s nothing to worry about, just a way for us to gauge your natural talents. On Thursday, I will accompany you into town so that you can purchase the supplies you’ll need for your studies. On Friday, we will officially kick off the semester with the Opening Banquet. The entire school will be in attendance: all three classes of students, as well as our faculty and the headmistress herself. The menu will be significantly more extensive than what you were given tonight. So be prepared for that.”

“Oh dear,” said Malia, and Grayson could not have agreed with the sentiment more.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Ryder kindly. “It will an exciting evening, I promise. Now, I’m sure you’re all drowsy and full after your meal. Everything else you need to know can wait until tomorrow, so I’ll point the way to your apartments, shall I? If you’ll all just follow me….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to you beautiful souls that are leaving kudos and comments! It ain't easy attracting an audience to an OC-based niche kink fic -- means a lot to me to see that people are reading. <3


	3. Orientation Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast is eaten, then eaten again. A magical demonstration is had. Grayson makes a human enemy and a feline friend. The first-years get oriented.

After the soundest night's sleep of his life, Grayson woke to the sun blazing against his eyelids.

He rolled over in bed with a groan. The sheets were so soft and the blankets so thick that he was reluctant to get up, but the morning was obviously well underway. So he rose, dressed, and slouched out into the study space that adjoined his and Bramley’s bedrooms. The sound of running water behind the bathroom door told him that Bramley was already awake and in the shower. Eager for a cup of tea, Grayson descended the short spiral staircase to the rest of the apartment.

The common room was glowing golden, awash with morning light. They didn’t call it the Saffron Apartment for nothing. With its honey-colored floorboards, amber walls, and velvet-upholstered sofas in rich shades of yellow and orange, the place looked like the inside of a buttercup. Three big bay windows offered a panoramic view of the valley, the village of Oppendorff, and the sheer, snowy peaks beyond.

Besides the sitting area with its cozy couches and sandstone-bricked fireplace, there was a sunny kitchen with a sink, a stove, and a breakfast table. The girls were already there, laughing and chatting over bowls of oatmeal and mugs of coffee.

“Morning, Ives!” said Kara. “Pull up a chair, the kitchen’s fully stocked.”

“Ugh, I still can’t think about eating after last night.” Grayson prodded the side of his belly. It still felt bloated and a little uneasy.

“Have some coffee, at least.” Malia poured a mug for him. “Kara and I were just talking about what we should do today. Look, there’s a handbook.”

She pushed a small clothbound book across the table. A STUDENT’S GUIDE TO OSM was stamped across the front in gold letters. Grayson picked it up and flipped through the sections— _School Policy—Normal Study Progression—Student Life_ —until he came to a map of the school near the back.

“I’d like to see the library, personally,” said Malia, shaking cinnamon into her oatmeal. “And the gardens here are supposed to be beautiful. At least, that’s what everyone at home told me when I got my letter.”

“I just want to meet some other di-mages,” said Kara. “I’m starting to feel like we’re the only people in the universe, considering how quiet it is around here. Plus, it'd be nice to know more about this magic we're supposed to be learning, wouldn't it?"

Grayson nodded. "I’m curious about this Soothing Room too. Maybe we can pay Ryder a visit there." He took a sip from his mug, trying not to flinch at the bitterness. He wasn't used to coffee, especially not black.

“I have a lot of questions for that guy,” Kara agreed. She frowned at the empty coffee press and then glanced at Malia, who was sitting closest to the stove. “Hey Mal, can you boil more water?”

“Sure.” Malia stood, picked up the kettle, and turned it around in her hands. “Um. How?”

Kara raised an eyebrow. “Uh, fill up the kettle, light the stove, and put the water on? No, not through the spout—you’ve got to take the lid off. _There_ you go. You get enough sleep last night or what?”

Malia closed the tap primly. “It’s only that the servants always did it at home.”

“ _Servants?_ Creator’s blood, girl, who _are_ you?”

“Is it really so strange?” Malia shrugged. “Everyone in Kingswood has servants. Unless they’re servants themselves, of course.”

“You're—you’re from Kingswood?!” Grayson had only ever heard stories of Zlott’s fabulous capital city, where the architecture was so sacredly beautiful that taking photographs within the city limits was a crime. “Is your family on the court?”

“No, my parents work for the Labor Bureau. But I know people on the court. I was studying to join the Royal Treasury, actually, before I was tapped to come here.”

“Wow. I… I feel like I should bow, or something.”

Malia laughed. “Please don’t.”

“The Royal Treasury….” Kara sounded awed. “It must’ve been a disappointment, to have to give that up when you got your letter!”

“Actually, no.” Malia’s eyes shone as she set the kettle on the stove. “You should hear the way they talk about mages like us in Kingswood. Digestive magic may be the butt of jokes everywhere else, but among those who _really_ know power, no other branch is as deeply respected. That’s why I’m eating breakfast, even though I woke up feeling as full as you still do, Grayson. I want to be _good_ at this. Don’t you?”

Grayson paused. “I’m not sure yet,” he said honestly.

“Either way, you’re stuck being a di-mage for life. Wouldn’t you rather be a good one?”

“…That’s a fair point.” He sighed and smiled weakly. “All right, where’s that oatmeal? I’ll just have a _small_ bowl.”

\- - -

The library wasn’t much to look at, Grayson thought—just a dusty collection of books manned by a guy who looked like he’d rather be out in the forest, chopping down trees. The gardens, on the other hand, were as incredible as promised. Not only were they lush and beautiful, but in true di-mage style, every plant was edible. There were vines of tomatoes and green beans and sugar peas, bushes of fat blueberries, trellises covered in blackberries and raspberries, tree branches hanging low with apples and plums, flowerbeds overflowing with strawberry creepers and thick, leafy lettuces. A sign near the gate informed visitors that they were welcome to eat all they wanted.

Grayson’s belly felt heavy as stone after he’d forced down some breakfast, but he just couldn’t help himself. The fruit was fresh and sun-ripened, sweeter and juicier than anything he’d ever bought in town or found growing in the shade of the forest. The vegetables were crisp and flavorful from the dark, rich soil. He sampled every vine, bush, and tree he saw until he was too full to stand. Kara and Malia soon joined him on the grass, groaning and licking juice from their lips. Even Bramley got a case of the hiccups and had to sit down.

A wizened old gardener found them all like that, sprawled out in the sunshine with their hands on their food-swollen bellies, and burst out laughing. “Oh, I love first-years! The older students get so _spoiled_ , so accustomed to good, fresh food. It’s the newcomers who really _appreciate_ what we do around here!” And on she went, cackling and pushing her wheelbarrow ahead of her.

\- - -

It was late afternoon by the time they made it to the Soothing Room, which was, as Ryder had promised, very easy to find. The big blue door was right at the top of the main staircase to the third floor. It creaked melodically on its hinges as Grayson pushed it open.

The room beyond was very large and very blue. The walls were painted deep midnight and draped with soft fabrics in soothing shades of periwinkle and cornflower. Strewn across the space were a dozen beanbag cushions, several stacks of small apple crates, a few big rugs, and more pillows than Grayson had seen in his life—all in various hues of blue. Only the floorboards were chocolate brown. There were no windows or electric lamps. Floating balls of glowing magic drifted and bumped at the ceiling, casting a soft, shifting light on everything below. 

On one of the cushions, a young woman sat with a book in her lap and a bowl in her hands. She glanced up at the sound of the door and called, “Ryder, you have visitors!”

Ryder peered out from behind a set of cabinets. He was wearing a ragged apron and his hair was coiled into a great twisted pile atop his head. “First-years! What can I do for you?”

“We just came to see what a Soothing Room actually is.” Kara cast her gaze over their surroundings. “I’m… not sure this clears anything up, though.”

“Maybe you could tell us something about what you do, if you have the time?” Grayson added hopefully.

“Ah.” Ryder came over, untying his apron as he walked. “As much as I love to listen to the sweet sounds of my own voice, I have work to do. But perhaps you could learn by seeing! Ina, would you be willing to do a demonstration for our new students?”

The woman on the cushion glanced up. “Let them watch? Sure.”

Ryder beamed as he hung his apron on a peg. “Come on, then. Gather round, take a seat.”

They knelt around the cushion in an awkward cluster. The woman—Ina—offered them a reserved smile. She was southern, Grayson realized, like himself. She had the dirty blonde hair and the pale eyes, and her accent had reminded him of home. She was eating steadily from a bowl of what appeared to be mashed banana. On the floor to her left was an imposing stack of dirty dishes. To her right, sitting on an upturned apple crate, was large cup of milk and a flowerpot holding the shriveled remains of an unfortunate plant.

“Ina’s in her third and final year at OSM,” Ryder said. “Which means at the end of this academic year, she’ll undergo her proving examination and so receive a career assignment from the Royal Examiners. Third-year students spend most of their time preparing a repertoire of advanced spells in preparation for their proving. Ina’s been working hard on this one over the summer, I believe?”

Ina had obviously been raised with southern manners and was unwilling to talk with her mouth full. She swallowed, and her fingers brushed gently over her belly, and Grayson noticed how incredibly swollen it was. It formed an obvious bump, even under her loose sweater. Grayson wasn’t sure whether he was horrified or impressed.

“I’ve almost perfected this one, I think,” she said, and Grayson could hear the breathiness of her voice, the weight of her full belly pressing on her lungs. He remembered how he’d felt the previous night, like his stomach was going to burst if he so much as breathed. He suppressed a shudder.

“Is that the spellbook there?” Malia asked. “May I see?”

Ina passed it to her. Grayson craned his neck to see the page over Malia’s shoulder. The spell was written in heavy type, with neat handwritten notes in the margin: 

> **SPELL FOR REJUVINATION:**
> 
> **Consume in fixed order. Avg. min. 1 kg**
> 
> **\- 2 p salt** _200 g salt pork_
> 
> **\- 1 p bitter** _100 g olives_
> 
> **\- 4 p fresh** _400 g fresh peach_
> 
> **\- 3 p sweet** _300 g banana_
> 
> **\- 4 p fat** _400 ml milk_

“So the spells are based on flavor?” Malia asked.

“Some are.” Ina scraped the last of the banana from her bowl and then set the empty dish aside. “Others categorize food differently. You’ll learn all about ingredient classes once you start to study properly. Would someone mind passing me my cup?”

Grayson was closest, so he picked up the cup. It was so heavy, even in his hand. He didn’t want to think about what its contents would feel like in his stomach, especially not if his stomach were as full as Ina’s obviously was.

“The spell calls for a _lot_ of food,” he said as he handed it to her.

“Yes.” Ina took a measured sip. “It can take a long time to get your ingredients down. Unlike other schools of magic, which pride themselves on their quick and flashy moves, digestive magic is takes time. But this is what makes it so powerful.”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Eating so much?”

“That’s why we have a Soothing Room.” Ina took another small sip of milk and then sighed. “All right, Ryder. I’m ready for your help.”

Ryder knelt beside her. “I’m here. How are you feeling?”

“Good. Settled. Just sore. And I have to get the rest of this down.”

“Let’s find some room, then.” Carefully, he pushed her sweater out of the way and placed hand against the bare skin of her belly. With deft, gentle strokes, he began to rub circles over the rounded bulge, moving slowly from top to bottom. Sometimes he seemed to find something that felt wrong—he would stop and press three gentle fingers into her flesh, until she sighed with a mixture of pain and relief.

Grayson felt almost embarrassed, watching them. It looked so strange, so intimate, but neither Ryder nor Ina seemed to feel awkward in the least. Ryder looked as poised and professional as ever. Ina looked absolutely relaxed.

He was not the only bewildered one. "What.... Why are you doing this?" Kara asked flatly.

“It helps relieve discomfort,” Ryder explained. “Once you’ve consumed the spell ingredients, it takes focus to actually cast, and it can be hard to focus if your belly hurts.”

“Ah. So you soothe away the pain."

“Exactly.” Ryder turned his attention back his client, whose breathing had evened out. “All right, Ina. Ready to try the last of the milk?”

She nodded. Ryder put the cup to her lips and tilted it. She drank, long and slow. Then she closed her eyes.

There was a stirring—not quite sound and not quite motion, but something detectable nonetheless. In the flowerpot, the dead sticks stirred and began to swell with life. Brown leaves blushed green. New tendrils pushed their way out of the earth. The dried bud in the center of the plant unfurled, softened, and blushed red.

“Oh!” Grayson breathed. What had once been a pile of dried sticks was now a fresh, blooming geranium.

Ina’s expression was rapturous. She looked at the first-years through half-lidded eyes and sighed, “Casting is the best feeling in the world. You’re going to love it.” Then her eyelids fluttered shut and her breath softened. She was asleep.

Ryder turned to the first-years and smiled. “And that’s that. What do you think?”

Grayson reached out and touched the velvet-soft petals. “It was _dead_ ,” he said faintly. “How is that possible? I thought—I thought magic was just a lot of time-saving tricks!”

Ryder’s smile broadened. “Not digestive magic.”

“Gosh, I didn’t realize it would be so _intense_ ,” said Malia. “Do you always need a… a belly rub and a nap to cast?”

“No, no. It’s only because Ina’s spell was very advanced. For your ordinary day-to-day magic, you won’t need me. Afterwards, you’ll maybe have to pop a button on your pants and sit down for a bit. In an hour, you’ll be ready for lunch. No big deal. No, the Soothing Room is here for when you push yourself." He stood up, a little stiffly. "Come, let me show you what you need to know.”

He led the first-years over to an alcove near the the door. Here stood a heavy desk, surrounded by a set of towering cabinets and a few well-cushioned armchairs. A small, neat plaque on the desk read: RYDER KLINE - HEAD SOOTHER.

“I'm the only soother OSM has for the moment,” Ryder explained, “so sometimes I can be difficult to find. But if you'd like my help, just leave a note here on my desk and we can make an appointment. The Soothing Room is always open to you. You can come here just to have a comfortable place to practice casting. And of course, if you’re feeling ill, you can always take a tonic.” He pointed to a series of low metal racks near the end of his desk, filled with vials of liquid in various shades of golden and green. “I stock three kinds of tonic, normally. Mint promotes digestion and relaxes your muscles. You should take it when you feel bloated, achy, or just generally unpleasant from having too much in your belly. Ginger has more of a settling effect and helps with nausea and upset stomach. If you feel really terrible, you’ll want the tonic that combines both: ginger-and-mint. That’s what I gave you two last night.”

Grayson filed this information in the most secure part of his memory. He had a feeling he'd really need it.

"Now, if you all don't mind, I really do need to get back to my duties." Ryder took his apron from its hook and slipped it over his head. "Lots to brewing and cleaning to do before the semester starts proper. I _am_ glad you dropped by, though. Please come see me whenever you like."

\- - -

On the breakfast table the next morning, the first-years found a sheet of paper with the words INFORMATION FOR ENTRANCE EVALUATION scrawled across the top. Underneath, each of their names was listed next to a room number and a time.

“What do you think they’ll have us do?” asked Malia with slightly manic anticipation.

“Cast a spell?” Bramley suggested. He was biting his lip, which was the most emotional expression Grayson had seen him make thus far. “Don’t think I could cast a spell. Not like we saw yesterday.”

“Ryder made it sound like it was nothing to worry about.” Grayson peered down at his name: _Grayson Ives, 4 pm, Room 203._ “It’s only an evaluation, isn’t it? How bad could it be?”

\- - -

At 4 pm sharp, Grayson opened the door to Room 203. 

On the other side of the door was a small, dusty classroom. On the other side of the classroom was a big desk holding a series of glasses. And on the other side of the desk sat the examiner. Grayson had been expecting some kind of wrinkled old professor, perhaps with a white beard or thick spectacles. So he was rather surprised to see a young man with sharp cheekbones and a small spray of loose black curls.

“Hi there. I’m Grayson Ives.” He approached the desk and offered a hand.

The other man stared at it coolly and said, “Should I care?”

Grayson let his hand fall, blinking. “Oh—uh, is this not the entrance evaluation?" 

“It is. Sit down.”

“All right, um—sorry, but what’s your name? What should I call you?”

“You won’t have to call me anything. I’m only here to assess your natural stomach capacity. After that, I don’t expect we’ll have a reason to ever speak again. Now sit down.”

"...Oh." An indignant flush began to burn into Grayson’s cheeks. “I guess I won’t be inconveniencing you for too long then. I don’t have any natural stomach capacity.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that, won’t I? Now— _sit down._ ”

Grayson took his seat stiffly, wondering who the hell this man thought he was. He had light skin. Dark eyes. His appearance made him look Northern, like Malia, but his dialect was Oppendorffish all the way. The sunny, sing-song quality of the accent grated strangely against the ferocious precision with which he spat his words.

“The evaluation will be simple,” said the man in clipped tones. “On the table before you, you see several glasses. You will drink the contents of as many of these as you can. For each glass you finish in under one minute, you will be given two points. For each glass that takes you longer than a minute, you’ll receive one point. When you feel full, you will inform me that you’ve reached your capacity and the evaluation will end. Do you understand?”

“Sounds easy enough.” Grayson eyed the peach-colored liquid filling the glasses. It didn’t look particularly good, but it didn’t look bad, either. “Should I just start, then?”

The examiner took a stopwatch out of his pocket. “Go ahead.”

Grayson picked up a glass and drank. The mixture was thick, vaguely sweet, and settled heavily in his stomach. He drank with careful but quick sips, and was feeling quite pleased with his efficiency until—

“Really,” the examiner muttered, under his breath but certainly loud enough to be heard. 

Grayson glanced up. “Sorry, am I doing something wrong?” 

“You’re only on your first glass and you’re sipping it like hot tea. We’ll be here all afternoon.” He glanced down at his stopwatch with raised eyebrows. "I suppose it’s your right to take as long as you want.” 

“Is it _your_ right to comment on what I’m doing?” The question slipped out before Grayson could water down the impudence. Part of him hoped this man wasn’t someone who was going to have significant control over his education; another part of him defiantly refused to care.

“You get no bonus points for sass,” said the examiner shortly. "Keep drinking."

Grayson struggled not to roll his eyes as he drained the last of his glass and picked up another. There were nearly a dozen full glasses on the table, he noted. Could anyone really be expected to drink that much? He began to sip at his second glass, ignoring the examiner's pointed sigh. It was all getting to his stomach eventually. Not in less than a minute, but eventually.

After his third glass, Grayson had to stifle a little belch against his wrist. His stomach felt sloshy and tight.

“I’m full,” he said. “That’s my capacity.”

The examiner narrowed his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“What do you mean, it’s not? You told me to drink until I’m full. Now I’m full.”

“With a score of three? There’s no way you could’ve been tapped for a di-mage with a capacity that pathetic.”

“Well, I was.” Grayson’s felt his face flush. “So—what now? Do I fail the entrance evaluation? Are you gonna put me on a train and send me back home?”

The examiner left a long, heavy pause. Then he said, “Drink another glass.”

“But I’m _full_ —” 

“The evaluation isn’t going to end until you drink at least one more glass, because I’m not turning in a sheet with a measly three written on it.”

Grayson glared. He grabbed a glass and, mentally apologizing to his stomach, chugged it down as quickly as he could. Then, just to spite this asshole, he grabbed another and drained it as well.

“There,” he said, slamming the empty cup down on the desk. “How’s a seven? Is that good enough?” His stomach lurched painfully. “— _Urrp_.”

The examiner glanced disinterestedly at his stopwatch. “Actually, the final glass took you a minute and two seconds. So a six, not a seven.”

Grayson opened his mouth to protest, but an uncomfortable hiccup came out instead. He pressed a hand over his mouth.

“I suppose six is a tolerable score. You’re free to go.”

It was not easy standing up with what felt like the ocean in his belly, but Grayson did it with as much dignity as possible. He turned and left the room without saying another word.

\- - -

Five minutes later, Grayson was staggering down the third-floor corridor, hiccuping quietly and holding his sloshing belly. He was starting to seriously regret having indulged his spiteful streak.

The Soothing Room was empty, except for Ryder, who was sitting at his desk and scratching at some papers with a fountain pen. He glanced up at the sound of the door.

“Hi,” said Grayson, a little sheepishly. “Can I— _hic_ —take a mint tonic? And maybe— _hic_ —sit down for a moment?”

“Be my guest.” Ryder gestured to the armchairs near his desk. “You know, Grayson Ives, I think I’ll make you a box of assorted tonics that you can keep in your room. I have a feeling you’re going to need them.” 

“Thanks.” Grayson took a vial from the rack and drank its contents. The mint tonic was less soothing than the ginger-and-mint had been, but at least it turned the burbles of his belly from unhappy to industrious. He settled into a chair and rubbed gently over his swollen stomach while Ryder dug a cardboard carrier box from out of a cabinet.

“You just had your entrance evaluation, I take it?” Ryder asked. “But that shouldn’t have pushed you physically at all. You were only supposed to drink until you felt full.” 

“That’s what I thought. But the examiner wouldn’t believe that I’d reached my capacity.”

“Really?” Ryder’s brow creased. “Who evaluated you?”

“I don’t know. Some jerk. He wouldn’t tell me his name.”

Ryder frowned. Then shook his head. “Ah. Tall and thin? Black hair?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Elliott. Don’t take it personally, he treats everyone like that.”

“Is he a teacher?”

“No, no, he’s just a third-year student. And he… hmm, what I can say about Elliott?” Ryder laughed without much humor. “Well—he comes from a long line of di-mages. His mother is our current headmistress. He is, in all fairness, a very good digestive mage. But….” 

“He’s an asshole!”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Ryder’s voice drops slightly. “I may or may not _think_ it, but I wouldn’t _say_ it. He _is_ the headmistress’s son. Best not to make enemies out of such people. Oh, Elliott… I’d hoped the recovery process would have mellowed him out over the summer. Guess not.”

“Recovery process? From what?”

“He had an accident at the end of last year. Tried to cast too big of a spell on his own. If he’d done it in the Soothing Room, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but… let’s just say he’s never been very appreciative of what I do here.”

Grayson tried not to imagine what a di-mage accident would be like. “Can you really hurt yourself casting this kind of magic? Can your—oh Creator, can your stomach explode?”

“You won’t _explode_. Ruptures can happen, but that’s very rare. Don’t look at me like that, Grayson, it won’t happen to you.” Ryder smiled with faint amusement as he slipped a final tonic into the box and folded the lid shut. “Accidents usually have more to do with the actual magic. If you lose control of the spell, or if your body is under too much strain and rejects it, you might accidentally redirect all the power you’re channeling into yourself. That can be very—oh dear, not _you_.”

A sleek tabby cat had just slunk out from under Ryder’s desk. It yawned luxuriously, arched its back, and stretched each leg, one by one.

“You have a cat!” said Grayson. He lowered a hand and twitched his fingers. The cat regarded him with mild interest, then purred and padded over.

“It’s not _my_ cat,” said Ryder reproachfully. “OSM has a dozen or so, to control the mice. I try to keep them out of the Soothing Room so they don’t disturb my work. But Daisy here seems to be able to walk through walls.” 

“Aw, I love cats.” Grayson gave Daisy’s chin a scratch. She wound agreeably against his fingers, purring, before suddenly turning and dashing away. “And dogs. Anything with fur, really.” 

“Is that so? I thought I read in your student file that you previously hunted for a living.”

“Well, I was a pretty shit hunter.” Grayson sighed. “Not sure I’ll be a much better di-mage, with the way things are going.”

“Now, now. Just give yourself some time. Kimbaza wasn’t built in a day.” Ryder set the box it on his desk. “Here are your tonics. You’d better get going. I’ve got chores to do, and your classmates are probably waiting on you for dinner.”

\- - - 

The sunset that evening was so breathtaking, it almost made up for how lousy the rest of the day had been. Grayson stood at one of the windows in the common room, watching the sky turn from fiery orange to pale yellow to deep blue as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains. The beauty of the landscape soothed his jumbled thoughts and the cool air coming through the glass felt good on his dinner-heavy belly. 

A hand touched his shoulder. “Something interesting out there?” Kara asked.

“Just admiring the view.” Grayson stepped sideways, giving her room to join him at the window. “It’s so beautiful here."

“It’s… strange. Where I come from, it’s flat orange sand as far as the eye can see. That’s beautiful too, you know.”

“Don't you two look cozy.” Malia came up behind them. "What are you looking at?"

“Just, um, admiring the sunset." Grayson rubbed a hand through his hair self-consciously. He really wasn't used to people questioning his thoughtful moments. At home, nobody would've cared what he was looking at or thinking about.

Malia looked at his bashful face and smirked. "We-e-ell, I just came over to tell you that I found a deck of cards, if you want to play. But I completely understand if you're busy _admiring the sunset_ together. I did think it seemed like you two were getting close. But then, I have a good eye for these things."

"For what things? I—ohhh, is _that_ what you think is happening?" Kara chuckled. "Sorry to break your lucky streak, Malia, but it's not like that. Grayson here isn’t my type at all.”

“You don’t like southern boys?”

“I don’t like _boys_ ,” said Kara, raising an eyebrow significantly. “I prefer my lovers with boobs, thanks.”

Malia looked shocked. Grayson had to admit he was shocked too. He’d never heard anyone talk so openly about preferring to sleep with their own sex. For him, it had always been something hidden, something whispered to trusted friends behind the backs of those who spoke admonishingly of ‘deviant attraction.’ For a moment, he feared that Malia’s expression would curl the way he’d seen on some of the villagers when rumors had started to spread about him and Ben.

But then Malia laughed and said, “Aww, but who am I gonna gossip to about cute boys then?”

Before he could think too hard about it, Grayson said, “Me.”

“You?  _You_ care about cute boys?”

“Sure. I prefer my lovers with, um”—he broke off there, realizing he couldn’t pull off Kara-style pithiness with his cheeks as red as they were—“uh, I like boys. Talk to me about boys.”

Kara laughed heartily. Malia grinned and said, “Okay, did you see the guy behind the desk at the library yesterday? Cute or not?”

“No way. His neck was almost as wide as his jaw.”

“You don’t like ‘em muscular?”

“Sure, I _like_ muscle, but it’s not that attractive if the guy’s just a solid block of it, you know? Plus, that beard. Ugh.”

Malia looked scandalized. “Bearded men are so incredibly hot.” 

“You think? Don’t you imagine it’d be itchy to kiss? I mean, I’ve never kissed a bearded man, but it just looks that way.” Grayson felt almost dizzy with how honest he was being. He’d only ever spoken like this with Ben.

There was the creak of someone on the stairs. Bramley appeared, freshly changed into a pair of crisp pinstriped pajamas.

Malia rounded on him. “Bramley! Girls or guys?” 

“Or both?” Kara added. 

Bramley froze on the spot. “I… just came for some tea?” he said uncertainly. “What’s… happening?”

“Gossip,” said Kara with a crooked smile. “We’re all dying to know your sexual preferences. Girls, guys, or both?” 

Bramley paused for a minute before saying, “Girls. I think.”

“You _think_?” 

“I’ve never actually….” Bramley’s face went bright red. He seemed to regret having said anything, but at the same time, knew he could not stop in the middle of that sentence with three pairs of eyes on him. He cleared his throat and said quietly, “I mean. I want to. With a girl. But I….”

“You’ve never had sex?” Kara asked.

“Never even kissed.” Bramley’s blush deepened. “Um. Embarrassing. But… it’s just… I mean…." His voice was barely a whisper. "Who would want to kiss big dumb Nubbins?”

Grayson’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? Have you _seen_ yourself? Where I’m from, the village girls would be clawing each other’s eyes out over you!”

“Yeah, give yourself more credit,” Kara agreed. “Just look at those sweet baby blues of yours! And you could probably hammer stakes into the ground with that jawline. I’m sure this whole school is crawling with girls who’ll want to kiss big dumb Nubbins.”

Bramley’s face was so red it could’ve passed for a beet. “You guys are too nice,” he mumbled, and in that moment, Grayson felt a rush of protective affection for him. It was the same kind he’d felt nearly a decade ago, when his baby sister Alisha had come to him crying because a boy in the village had stolen her doll and torn its limbs off right in front of her. Grayson had knocked the kid’s tooth out for that, and been sent to bed without dinner for fighting, but he’d never regretted it for a second. 

“Actually,” he said firmly, “it sounds to me like the people in your hometown were too mean, Bram. Nobody here’s gonna call you dumb, all right?”

“You’re not dumb anyway,” said Malia. “It was you who figured out we were on the wrong floor when were looking for the library yesterday, remember? It takes brains to navigate this maze of a school.”

Bramley looked stunned. Then he spread his big arms and wrapped them all up in a bone-crushing hug.

"I like you guys," he said thickly.

“Aww," said Kara in a vaguely squashed voice. “I like you too, big guy. It’s like Ryder said. We gotta stick together, right?”

“Like glue.” Malia peered around a sprig of Kara’s hair to meet Grayson’s eyes. “As long as you stay away from my bearded librarian, Ives.” 

“Ugh. Keep him,” said Grayson, and as the girls’ laughter set the Saffron Apartment ringing, he thought to himself: _no secrets between classmates is a beautiful thing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was only supposed to be like 2 scenes long, but as it turns out, exposition has gotta go somewhere. ^^'


	4. The Opening Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first 1500 words are a shopping trip and the rest is everyone eating themselves sick. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: body image issues. I was not intending to do more than touch on that kind of thing, but this is the direction Grayson is taking me, poor kid.

“These are your semester allowances.”

Grayson stared down at the envelopes in Ryder’s hand. “Our what?”

“ _Semester allowances_ , Grayson. Take one, each of you. It should last you until January, so use it well.”

It was Thursday morning, and the first-years had awoken to a note instructing them to meet Ryder on the front drive to arrange the purchasing of things for the upcoming semester. Grayson had envisioned being taken to town, shepherded to a very specific school-approved shop, and instructed to ask for items from a very specific school-approved list. He certainly hadn’t expected to be handed an envelope of money and told to use it well.

“But what are we supposed to buy?” he asked. “Books?”

Ryder laughed. “You won’t find magic books in ordinary shops, I assure you. We have everything you’ll need for your studies at the school. Books, paper, pens, spell ingredients. We’re quite well-supplied.”

“We can use this for whatever we want? Really?” Bramley had opened his envelope and was thumbing the stack of banknotes. It appeared to be more than the cumulative amount of pocket money Grayson had had in his life, although admittedly that wasn't saying much.

“Really,” said Ryder. “Needs will arise, you’ll see. Many students find themselves requiring new clothing as the semester progresses, for example. And perhaps you’d like some decorations for your rooms. There are cab fares. Food and drink in town. Postage for letters home. And so on. Make sense? No? It seems some of you have questions.”

Malia was nodding along to Ryder’s words, but Kara and Bramley looked exactly how Grayson felt—surprised and slightly suspicious. The Kingdom only ever gave its subjects three kind of payments: wages, bribes, and bait. None of them were quite sure which kind this was.

“Who funds this?” Kara asked carefully. “The school?”

“Yes. And so ultimately, the Royal Agency of Magical Affairs.” Ryder paused. “The Agency realizes that all of you are adults and have been involutarily drawn away from your means of income in order to study. It’s only fair that you’re given some sort of stipend.”

“Yes, but—I guess I didn’t think it would _be_ very fair. It’s usually not, is it, usually the Kingdom does as it likes and we just live with the consequ….” Grayson trailed off, realizing before he’d finished that it was a very stupid thing to say.

“Life as a mage can be quite comfortable,” said Ryder simply. “I wouldn’t question it too much, Grayson. Especially not aloud, and especially not when the Royal Examiners come round later this year. Just a little advice.”

Grayson pocketed his allowance and shut his big mouth.

“Anyway,” Ryder continued, primly slipping on a pair of sunglasses, “I’m going into town now, so if you’d like to shop, I can show you the way.”

\- - -

The school was set further up-slope than the rest of Oppendorff. A driveway led down to a cobbled street, and from there a narrow footpath descended through a quiet neighborhood to the city center.

It was a beautiful day, fresh with the last of the summer sun and the first of the autumn chill. The view over the valley was stunning. Malia was telling some kind of story and Kara was laughing. Grayson wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. He had something on his mind.

He jogged a moment to catch up to Ryder. “Hey, uh—I was wondering whether—um, can I ask you a silly question?”

Ryder peered at him over the top of his sunglasses. “Nothing that troubles you enough to formulate a question is silly, Grayson. Go ahead.”

“Am I going to gain weight here?”

There was a brief pause. “Ah. Hmm. That’s not a silly question, but a curious one. Did somebody tell you that you would?”

“You said something earlier about most students needing to buy new clothes,” Grayson explained quickly. “I thought maybe—”

“Oh!” Ryder laughed. “I meant because of the weather! Oppendorff’s climate is colder than the rest of the country in the wintertime. Many students don’t own anything suitably warm.” His voice grew kind. “ Are you worried about gaining weight, Grayson?”

“Um. A little. I mean—I’ve been eating so much food.” And he was already beginning to feel like the button on his pants was a little tight, although that might have more to do with the fact that he hadn’t let the bloat of his stomach go down since Monday.

“Some new students do gain weight. Others don’t. Both situations are completely normal,” said Ryder. “Casting takes a lot of energy. You’ll burn off most of what you eat. It may take some time to get used to the changes in your metabolism, but you will ultimately have as much control over your weight here as you did before.”

“Yeah, okay. Good to know.” Grayson felt his cheeks grow hot. The way Ryder was looking at him was making him squirm. “Um, thanks,” he muttered, and slowed his pace to walk beside Bramley.

\- - -

Grayson did not like the main square. Every time a cart rumbled past or a vendor in the marketplace shouted something about fresh apples or hot pies, he twitched. Oppendorff was not exactly teeming metropolis, but it _was_ the biggest city in Westridge, and a far cry from the lonely wilderness of the Blue Hills.

“Most of the shops are down there,” Ryder said, pointing to a series of cobbled avenues lined by bright wooden buildings and choked with trucks, wagons, and stamping horses. “I’ll leave you now to run my errands, but if you meet me by the clock tower in two hours, you can get a ride back up to school. Enjoy yourselves!”

Grayson had no desire to put himself in the thick of that crowd. So while the girls went to explore the shops, he joined Bramley to check out the Town Commons. They bought ice cream cones from a smiling man with a pushcart and ate them slowly as they wandered among the ponds and gardens. On the far side of the Commons was a sporting area, where Bramley insisted they stop for awhile to watch some guys using wooden paddles to bounce a ball of a high wall. Grayson had never heard of the sport, but Bramley seemed to be a fan.

“Oppendorff has some of the best frontball players the country,” he said, nose practically pressed to the chain-link fence. “Wow! Wonder when the games are.”

They returned the square after two hours find Ryder sitting in the back of a cart filled with barrels and crates. The girls were already with him. Bramley and Grayson piled into the remaining space and Ryder signaled the driver. The cart jerked slowly into motion.

“Hello, boys." Malia pulled her shopping bag onto her lap to make room. “I hope your afternoon was at least as successful as ours.”

“We found the frontball court,” said Bramley happily.

“And something to eat too, I see.” Kara smirked and pointed to her cheek. “You have ice cream on your face, Ives. Just there.”

Grayson made a face and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I never had ice cream before. Excuse me for enjoying it.”

“Wow! First potatoes, now ice cream! You’re absorbing more of the local culture day by day.”

“So’re you.” He touched the sleeve of the new woolly sweater Kara was wearing. “Aren’t you too warm in that?”

“Too warm? Are you kidding? It’s like Sumorian January out here. I’ve had a chill since Monday.” She glanced back at Ryder, who was wearing short sleeves, a sun hat, and a serene smile. “You’re Sumorian too, aren’t you, Ryder? How did you get used to this place?”

“Oh, well—I haven’t lived in Sumoria for a very long time.” Ryder’s smile grew a fraction less serene. “I consider Oppendorff my homeland. It’s here that I’ve spent the most years of my life, and the best ones. That’s a very nice sweater you’ve found, Kara. A good traditional Westridgian style.”

Kara glanced down at it. “I just liked the blue. Most of the clothes here are so drab.”

“It would be very suitable to wear to the Opening Banquet tomorrow,” Ryder went on brightly. “The whole school will be curious to see our new first-year class, so you’ll want to be looking and behaving your best.”

“Oh,” said Grayson, “you, uh—you think people will be watching us?”

“I’m sure they will be, Grayson. The Headmistress herself often speaks to new students during the Banquet. I hope all of you are looking forward to it! The kitchens really outdo themselves for the occassion—it’s always the best food of the year.”

\- - -

The next day, Grayson had nothing but weak tea for breakfast and skipped lunch entirely. His classmates ribbed him for it, but he couldn’t have cared less. He only wanted to make it through the evening without exploding. His stomach would need all the room it could muster.

The Banquet was held in the Dining Hall—the same big room where a buffet-style dinner was casually served on ordinary evenings. But today, the tables had been covered with sleek black cloths and set with silver plates, little name cards, and napkins folded into fancy shapes.

There was a social hour before the dinner started, so that everyone could meet and mingle, Grayson supposed. He determinedly did not touch the platters of fruit and cheese that were carried around the room, even though his belly was growling from not eating all day. Instead, he preoccupied himself by shaking hands with a lot of people and trying to keep all the new faces straight. OSM was not so big, really. Taken together, there were only a dozen students and perhaps twice as many staff. It was still enough people to make his head whirl.

It was funny, he thought. Everyone back home said that di-mages were all fat and lazy and probably Northern. But looking around the room, he saw all types of bodies—thin, fat, tall, short, stout, muscular. He heard dialects from every region of Zlott, saw every possible color of skin, eyes, and hair. When he’d first gotten his letter, he’d been worried about sticking out. It seemed that around here, sticking out was the way to fit in.

Eventually a bell sounded, signaling everyone to take their seats. Grayson found his place, at a small table near the back with his classmates.

Silence fell as as a tall, broad-shouldered woman strode purposefully up to the front of the room. She was dressed all in silver and black, from her silver-buckled boots to her neat black-rimmed spectacles to the black hair pulled into a neat bun and fastened with a silver clip. Near her collar, a star-shaped pin glittered in the light.

She turned to face her audience, momentarily closed her eyes, and then spoke in a voice that had to be magically magnified: “Ladies and gentlemen, students and staff—good evening! Tonight, it is my sincere pleasure to welcome all of you to another year at the Oppendorff School of Magic. For the few of you who don’t know me, I am Headmistress Camilla Vale. For the past ten years, I’ve had the honor of overseeing all that happens at our honorable institution.”

She looked like a headmistress, Grayson thought. She looked strong and smart and stern, like someone you could confidently follow and very much would not want to cross.

“Whether you’re a brand new student or a seasoned researcher, this semester should be boundlessly exciting for you as we push of limits of magical possibility. But of course, some are approaching greater milestones than others. I would like to take a moment to recognize our five third-year students: Allison Boyce, Timothy Gardener, Ina Mikkels, Sara Nesbitt, and Elliott Vale. Would you please stand and be recognized?”

The room applauded politely as they stood. Grayson tried to imagine himself and his classmates in their place in only two years’ time. The older students looked so accomplished, so confident and proud—except Elliott, who was staring into space with sullen disinterest.

“Asshole,” Grayson muttered under his breath.

“What’s that?” Kara whispered, leaning in.

“That guy standing there. With the black hair. That’s the jerk who evaluated me.” As Grayson had found out later that day, he was the only one of his classmates who’d had the pleasure of meeting Elliott. Each of the first-years had had a different examiner.

“Ah.” Kara narrowed her eyes. “He doesn’t look very friendly.”

“He’s not.”

The Headmistress raised a hand for silence. “In only nine months’ time, these talented students will demonstrate their abilities for the King’s own Royal Examiners, and so receive their job assignments. Some will inevitably leave us; others will stay on as teachers or researchers here at OSM. Either way, there is no greater moment in a young mage’s life. So I would like to wish these diligent students well as they embark on their final year of study.

“And now, briefly, a few words for our first-year class. I'm sure you have all enjoyed an invigorating Orientation Week thanks to the brilliant Mr. Kline. He is but one of the many people at this school who are here to guide you on your journey. The study of magic can be overwhelming at times, but we all want to see you succeed. If you need help at OSM, you have but to ask.” She smiled, spreading her arms expansively. “Thank you for your attention. Now, let us do what we do best.”

She clapped and the tables filled with food. Applause died away into the sounds of clinking plates and scraping cutlery.

Grayson looked down. In front of him was a single, reasonably-sized bowl of chicken soup. That could only mean one thing.

“Bramley,” he asked, “how many courses does a Westridgian formal dinner usually have?”

“Uh… eight, I think. Soup. Salad. Bread. Fish. Grains. Meat. Cheese. Dessert. Yeah, eight.”

Eight. Eight… sounded like quite a lot… but it wasn’t so bad! It was better than nine, anyway. Grayson could handle eight courses. Yes, he could.

He picked up his spoon and dug in.

The first course was incredible. Grayson was starving and the soup was delicious, made with rich, meaty stock and tender vegetables. He could feel it settling into the pinched crevices of his empty belly, warm and nourishing. Soon he was scraping the bottom of the bowl. The empty dish vanished and was replaced by what looked like a whole head of lettuce chopped up on a plate, sprinkled liberally with crushed walnuts, dried cranberries, and chunks of roasted venison.

“Ah, here we go,” he muttered. It was _so much food_.

But it tasted so good. Even when his belly grew comfortably full, somewhere around the halfway point, it was a pleasure to keep eating. He didn’t begrudge a single bite by the time he cleaned the plate. Vegetables weren’t filling, anyway. There was a lot of volume in his stomach, but not much weight. The full feeling would pass quickly and he’d be fine.

The bread course consisted of six thick slabs of toast, each topped with something different. There was cream cheese and red peppers; soft-boiled egg with cress and onion; wildberry jam and thin strips of venison….

It tasted good, but it really filled him up. By the time he started the second slice, he realized that no, the salad hadn’t nothing, and his belly was actually running of room. By the third slice, he could feel it beginning to bloat out again. The fourth slice had to fight for space inside him.

“Is it bad that I’m stuffed already?” he asked, stifling a burp.

“I hope not.” Malia paused to rub her stomach. “I’m really full, too.”

“Even I’m going to be pushing my limits with this meal, I think,” said Kara. She was already on her fish course, but seemed to be slowing down. “You said eight courses, Bram?”

“Think so.” Bramley chased a scrap of salmon around his plate. “Me, I’m not complaining. This is the best food I’ve ever had.”

It was the best food Grayson had ever had too, but the taste was getting less and less appealing as his belly grew fuller and fuller. The last piece of bread stuck in his throat like glue. When his fish course appeared—a slab of grilled salmon atop a bed of rice—it took him a couple minutes of measured breathing before he could appreciate the juiciness of the flaky pink flesh or rich scent of the buttery sauce.

Halfway through the dish, he laid down his fork and leaned back in his chair.

“You all right, Ives?” Malia asked. “Tummy giving out already?”

“Just need a break. Give things a moment to settle.” He squirmed in his seat, grimacing. “Ugh, I’m so uncomfortable.”

“You really don’t like being full, do you?” Kara asked. “Doesn’t it make you feel relaxed?”

“No.” Grayson pressed agitatedly on his heavy belly. “It hurts. And it makes me feel… trapped. Like I couldn’t run if I had to.”

“This ain’t the woods, Ives. There’s nothing you need to run from.”

“Just old habit, I guess,” he muttered. Not to mention two decades of having it drilled into his head that he needed to be light, fast, quick, slim…. He was glad his parents couldn’t see him like this.

His stomach began to grumble as he started the rice. It was undeniably overfull now, swollen and sore and shuddering with little queasy pangs every time he swallowed. He discreetly undid the button on his pants after he got the last of it down, because screw decorum, he needed the room. His belly surged out, jutting over his bony hips. It was… grotesque. But at least it gave him some relief.

The fifth course was tomato and lentil stew. Grayson liked tomatoes and probably would’ve enjoyed the dish under other circumstances. But considering his stomach was bulging with what was basically four full-size meals, the heavy stew was not appealing at all.

“Can you actually die from eating too much?” he groaned. He had a spoonful of stew in front of his face and was trying to work up the willpower to force it down.

“I think you’ll puke before you die, Ives.” Kara burped discreetly into her hand. “Oops, sorry. Wow, I’m getting stuffed.”

 _If I puke, I’ll die of embarrassment anyway,_ Grayson thought. Aloud, he said, “My belly feels like it’s going to pop. I really don’t think I can—”

Kara’s eyes had widened. She jerked her head slightly.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the Headmistress standing right behind him.

“Good evening, first-years,” she said, smiling. “It's inspiring to see that you’re all enjoying your meals.”

Grayson shoved the spoonful of stew into his mouth and swallowed heavily.

The Headmistress pulled a spare chair up to the end of the table. “Don’t let me interrupt you too much. I only wanted to drop by and bid you a proper welcome.”

“S’very nice of you, ma’am,” said Bramley politely.

She turned warm eyes on him. “What’s your name?”

“Bramley, ma’am.”

“Ah yes. Bramley Nubbins, right? I believe I recall that name passing over my desk.”

Grayson did not dare to stop eating so long as the Headmistress was right across the table. He methodically spooned down stew, ignoring the stomach pangs and hoping she couldn’t hear the ominous groaning of his insides.

“Where are you from, Mr. Nubbins?”

“Um. Not so far. ‘Bout an hour away on the train.”

“I see. And what was it you did there? How do you like OSM in comparison?”

“Was apprenticed to a blacksmith,” said Bramley, and Grayson realized that he had never asked what Bramley did because he had always assumed exactly that. “I like it here fine. Nice place. Nice people.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. What about you, young lady? You're the Sumorian student?”

Grayson did not hear much of the Headmistress's conversation with Kara. He was focusing too hard on breathing through his overwhelming fullness. Slowly but surely, he got the last of the stew down. His empty bowl filled with a massive pile of meatballs, plus a slightly smaller pile of spinach in some kind of cream sauce. It all looked rich and juicy and full of flavor. Ugh.

Before he could make himself touch it, the Headmistress turned to him. “You must be the southern boy, then. Mr. Ives, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Grayson was glad to have an excuse not to eat. His gurgling stomach desperately needed a break. He palmed it under the table as he said, “Grayson Ives, ma’am.”

“It must be quite a change, coming up here all the way from the Blue Hills.”

“I suppose so.” Grayson struggled to think of something polite to say. His brain felt clogged with lentils and tomato paste. “Um—there’s—there’s definitely more food.”

She laughed. “That would be a given coming from anywhere. Have you enjoyed the Orientation Week?”

“Definitely. It’s been a interesting experie— _urrrp_ —!” The burp churned up from the aching depths of his belly before he could stop it. He blushed, horrified. “E-Excuse me. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, young man. Belches are a sign that you’re eating well, as a good di-mage should. Have you tried that creamed spinach yet? It’s my favorite.”

“Oh, not yet.” Grayson scooped up a spoonful and swallowed it down, barely tasting it. He felt his poor tummy heave, then settle. “— _Urp_. Delicious.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” The Headmistress offered him a smile that he feared was a touch indulgent. Then she turned to speak to Malia.

Grayson stared back down his food. Only three courses left. Oh, but his stomach was packed so tight….

He bit into a meatball. His belly let out a pleading gurgle. When he ignored it, it tried hitting him with a paralyzing cramp of nausea. He gasped and hunched over, silently praying for his stomach to settle. He could _not_ get sick, no no no. He’d rather explode.

The spell passed. Grayson wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced at the Headmistress. She seemed deeply absorbed in her conversation with Malia. He nudged Bramley.

“Bram,” he murmured, “you know how on the first day here, you said you would’ve been able to eat more?”

“Mhmm.”

“Do you feel the same way now, by any chance?”

Bramley looked down at Grayson’s sweaty face and understood. “I could. But….” He nodded at the Headmistress.

“I know, but—I’m gonna throw up if I keep eating.” He palmed his bloated belly, feeling the possibility quite distinctly in its sick, churning depths. “It’s just… too much.”

After a pause, Bramley murmured, “Quick. Give me your food, then.”

“ _Thank you_.” With one eye on the Headmistress, Grayson tipped the rest of his meatballs into Bramley’s bowl. Then he sagged back in his chair, pressing both hands to his swollen stomach. It burbled at him, overstuffed and aching.

The Headmistress rose from the table. “I'll leave you to your meal now. How nice to speak to you all! Such bright young students! I look forward to seeing what you’ll accomplish during your time at our school. Good evening.” The voluminous folds of her black dress swept around her as she turned and walked away.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Kara released her breath. “Oh Creator, she’s scary!”

“I thought she was nice,” said Bramley.

“Nice, but intimidating.” Kara patted her stomach and winced. “Or maybe it’s just that it was hard for me to think of things say with so much damn food in my belly.”

“I know. I’m actually _full_.” Bramley sounded surprised. “My parents would never believe it.”

“Well, I managed an interesting conversation, and I had a tummyache three courses ago.” Malia was chewing mechanically, eyes half-lidded. “Oh, look, cheese….”

The cheese course was basically an individualized version of the cheese platters from earlier. Westridge was known for its dairy products, so Grayson was sure that each one of those morsels was rich with critically-acclaimed flavor—and equally sure that none of his classmates cared in the slightest. He was grateful to his aching core when Bramley reached over and took his plate for him without being asked.

It was a spectacle worthy of being immortalized in song, Grayson thought, watching Bramley plow his way through two of those plates. That boy seemed unstoppable. But when he was done, he put one hand on his belly and let out an uncomfortable-sounding belch.

“I’m _really_ full,” he said uncertainly. “I’m… ohhh… maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all that….”

“Probably not,” said Kara. “I don’t think anyone should eat this much cheese at once. Urgh.”

Malia just powered her way through the plate with silent, terrifying determination.

Dessert was more of that horribly sweet caramel pudding. Grayson was about to pass his serving over when he noticed that Bramley was sitting with one hand on his stomach and the other over his mouth. He thought about all the meatballs and cheese he’d pushed onto the poor kid and felt a pang of guilt.

Some very stupid words came unbidden onto his tongue: “Let me take this one.”

Bramley shot him an uncertain glance.

“I can handle it. Everything has settled a little.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. The nausea had settled into an intense overfull bellyache. “And you look like you’re about to explode.”

“Yeah.” Bramley glanced down at the pudding. Then he grimaced and pushed the cup over. “I… I feel sick.”

“Just relax. I got this.” Grayson picked up his spoon and stared down at the puddings. It wasn’t _that_ much, really. Not at all.

His stomach was beyond full. It groaned and throbbed, too stuffed to churn anymore. He could feel it swelling with each bite, bloating out against his hand and pressing up against his lungs. It did not feel good at all. But he managed, burping and gasping his way through one pudding, and then the second. He dropped his spoon right around the same time that the girls were scraping the final dregs from their cups.

“We did it,” said Kara, sounding awed.

And then four more dishes appeared.

Bramley’s face went pale. “Nine courses,” he said. “I forgot about the fruit.”

They were bowls of raspberries. Only about a dozen berries each—a tiny but totally unstomachable amount.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Malia pushed her dish away. “No. Forget it. I can’t hold another bite.”

Kara took a deep breath. “Together, Bram? It’s only a few mouthfuls.”

With a sluggish nod, Bramley picked up his spoon.

Grayson swallowed hard. He was stuffed to the point of pain, enormously bloated with food. He could scarcely breathe and his belly was rumbling with indigestion. But he was not admitting defeat. Not with a handful of measly berries standing between him and clearing his damn plate.

With one hand doing its best to soothe his overloaded insides, Grayson picked up his bowl, tipped all the berries into his mouth, chewed, and forced an enormous swallow. Then, seized by some kind of determined madness, he took Malia’s bowl and demolished that one too.

The sound that gurgled up his throat as the food hit his stomach was so horrible that his classmates paused to look at him in horror. It was not quite a burp and not quite a hiccup. It _was_ extraordinarily painful, and it churned up from the pit of his agonized stomach like the exorcism of some kind of horrible digestive demon.

“I… think I ate too much,” he said weakly, before sinking back in his chair and all but passing out.

\- - -

The very last thing to appear on the table were vials of tonic. It was considerate, Grayson thought dully, of whoever had planned this torturous meal to provide them with a way to relieve their misery while they were still too bloated to move.

“Let it never be said that the first-year class did not clean their plates at the Opening Banquet,” said Kara solmenly as she uncapped hers, and they all toasted the sentiment before draining their vials.

The tonic settled everything just enough that it was possible for them to stagger back to the apartment. As soon as the door shut behind them, they collapsed on the couches in various states of digestive distress.

“Ooh,” Grayson moaned. “I can’t believe how much I ate….”

“Me neither. This is worse than the time I got really drunk and went overboard at the Midsummer Feast.” Kara tried in vain to tug the hem of her sweater back down over her swollen belly.“Ugh… thought you said this tonic stuff would help, Ives!”

“It helped a lot more the first time,” said Grayson mournfully. Maybe this was a weaker formulation, for whatever reason. Or else they’d all stuffed themselves past the point where the tonic could be of use. Either way, he had never needed a belly rub so badly in his life. He wished Ben were there. Good old Ben, with his easy laugh and his soft hands....

“Is anybody else sort of… freaked out?” Malia sounded almost drunk, she was so dazed with fullness. “By how big and hard their stomach is? Like… I never imagined mine could get this big.”

“Never— _hic_ —seen mine— _hic_ —swell at all.” Poor Bramley had a nasty case of the hiccups and was wincing each time his stomach shook. “Have to— _hic_ —tell my ma that I found the— _hic_ —bottom of the bottomless pit.”

Grayson rolled over look at him. “Thanks for saving me back there, Bram. I’m sorry it made you feel sick.”

“Don’t— _hic_ —mention it. Would’ve— _hic_ —got this bellyache anyway. Was just too much food.”

“It was _so_ much. Nobody could possibly enjoy eating that much! I mean, what the hell were they trying to prove?”

“We’re di-mages, Grayson, we _should_ eat a lot,” said Malia through a yawn. “The professors, for example, they probably enjoy feasting like that. I’ll bet they’re used to—oh, Kara, you’re my hero.”

Kara, who had evidently found the willpower to stand, had just deposited a hot water bottle in Malia’s arms. Malia pressed it gratefully over her belly and closed her eyes, sighing.

“What?!” Grayson could not disguise his jealousy. “Where did you get that?”

“There are plenty in the kitchen cabinet.” Kara smiled weakly and held up a few empty ones. “Just waiting for more water to boil, then you boys will have them too.”

“Ohhh, thank you so— _hic_ —much,” said Bramley.

“Kara for Queen,” Grayson added, and then groaned as his belly cramped.

Fifteen minutes later, the stomach pains had eased somewhat under the press of the hot water, and Grayson could feel a food coma coming on. He fell asleep right there on the couch, lulled by the sound of autumn rain drumming on the windows and the occasional gurgle of overworked digestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will this fic ever feature nice, pleasurable, fluffy stuffing? The answer is yes, but not until I get the devastating tummyaches out of my system.
> 
> Many moons ago, I tried to make a kink blog on tumblr but never really used it. Now that I’m writing this fic, I need more belly inspo and so I’ve been slowly getting that blog up and running.
> 
> I’m [ginger-and-mint,](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/) come talk to me about full bellies over there!


	5. Semester Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your wonderful comments, they give me life. <3 And although I do have a pretty solid plan for this story, I’m def listening to what you guys tell me in terms of what you’re enjoying, which characters you like / want to suffer, and so on. ;)

“Ives, didn’t I ask you to cut that out already?”

“Oops—yeah—sorry, Malia.” Grayson dropped the pen he had been drumming on the table and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

It was Monday morning. Their very first class had been scheduled to start at 9 a.m. sharp. It was now ten past nine and the classroom was still empty, aside from the four first-years sitting at their benches and a black-and-white cat lounging on the big desk at the front of the room. Grayson had wondered at first if the cat could somehow be their teacher in disguise. He’d dispensed of that notion when it had lifted its leg and started licking.

The wait was doing nothing to soothe his agitated nerves. He hadn’t yet decided whether it was excitement or anxiety that was making it hard for him to sit still. The night before, as he’d lain in his soft bed and watched the moon rise over the distant ridges of the mountains, he’d thought about things that hadn’t crossed his mind since he’d left the Blue Hills.

Two months ago, his greatest ambition had been to leave home. To work up the courage to tell his family he didn’t want to live the same life as his ancestors; to move to a bigger village, maybe even a proper town, and find some kind of job that didn’t involve killing things. Perhaps eventually open a shop, like Ben’s parents.

He’d never fancied himself an academic. Mrs. Ellin, the teacher in charge of the one-room schoolhouse where he’d gotten his education, had given up correcting his spelling when he was eleven and had always praised him a little too enthusiastically when he’d gotten more than half his arithmetic problems right, which he could only take to mean that he was hopelessly stupid. But now here he was, five stories up behind the thick walls of a wooden palace, and tomorrow he was going to _study_. He was going to study something so important, the government had given him money to do it. He’d eaten ice cream and watched a frontball game and ridden in a train and done a dozen other things that nobody from his hometown would ever dream of. And he had friends. Kind, interesting friends who seemed to care about who he was beyond being the oldest son of the hunters down the valley. Grayson had had precious few people like that in his life.

He was starting to realize that up until now, he'd been living in the shadows. He’d dutifully done a job he hated, bitten his lip when he wanted to speak, kept his head down to avoid his family’s disapproval and his village’s scorn. His real thoughts and passions and fears had stayed hidden away, only allowed out during those private moments in the depths of the woods. But here, nobody would sneer at him for eating all he wanted or sleeping past sunrise. He could talk honestly about hating blood and finding men attractive. He could even imagine that someday, he might amount to something more than what everybody else had already decided he was.

He still wasn’t sure he belonged in this world, but he really, really wanted to.

“—Grayson Ives! Creator’s blood!” Malia reached over and snatched the pen straight out of his hands.

Grayson’s stammered apology was interrupted by the sound of the door.

A small man with a wild mop of white hair hobbled slowly in, pushing a rattling cart and whistling a tune. He completed nearly four rounds of _Kingswood Bridge is Falling Down_ before reaching the blackboard, turning around, and noticing that he had an audience.

“Oho—are those my students I see?” He pushed his thick spectacles down his nose. “You’re all so early!”

Kara cleared her throat. “With all due respect, sir, wasn’t class supposed to start fifteen minutes ago?”

“Was it really?” The man squinted up at the clock. A full ten seconds passed before he exclaimed, “Oh! So it was! Ohoho, how silly of me. Well, let’s not waste any more time then. Come! Come up here, all of you, and gather your things!”

He was referring to the four cardboard boxes sitting on the cart. In each of them was a textbook, a notebook, several pens, and a large glass bottle filled with water.

“We’ll start with a demonstration!” said the professor as soon as the students were back in their seats. “Please open your books to page 12….”

The book was a battered volume titled _Introductory Spellcraft for Digestive Mages._ Grayson turned the pages carefully, a little afraid that the aged paper would crumble in his hands. Page 12 contained a small paragraph beneath a bold heading:

 

 

> **MAGELIGHT**
> 
> This basic piece of magic is the first spell that most young digestive mages learn. It produces a glowing orb of light, which floats overhead to illuminate the caster’s way. Requiring only one ingredient and a modest stomach capacity, it is considered one of the easiest spells to cast.
> 
>  
> 
> SPELL FOR THE ILLUMINATION OF MAGELIGHT
> 
> Avg. min. 2 L
> 
> \- 1 part water
> 
> Spell is sustained by the mage’s will and shall self-extinguish upon release.

 

“Today we shall learn to cast magelight,” said the professor. “This basic piece of magic is the first spell that most young digestive mages learn. It produces a glowing orb of light, with floats overhead to—”

Malia put up her hand. “Excuse me, Professor—sorry, what was your name?”

“Oh! Ohoho! I did forget to introduce myself, didn’t I?” The professor scratched his head. “Professor Trott, my dear.”

“Professor Trott—are these textbooks ours to keep?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid not. Magic books are strictly regulated, you know, and the school has a limited number of copies. You will have to return your book at the end of the year, so please, treat it with care!”

Grayson glanced down at his battered textbook. The spine was cracked in three places and the cover was heavily stained with the vestiges of an ancient coffee mishap.

“Now, where was I…? Ah, yes, the magelight spell! Allow me to demonstrate. Pay close attention, because afterwards, it will be your turn to try.”

Professor Trott took a glass from the cart and filled it at the sink in the corner of the classroom. Then he tipped its contents down his throat in one long draught and raised his right hand.

Between his fingers, a ball of bluish light blinked into existence. It swelled until it was the size of a grapefruit and then bobbed placidly over the professor’s palm, its icy glow deepening the shadows on his wrinkled face. The effect was impressive; for a moment, Grayson could believe that this doddering old man really was a powerful mage.

“Mages of all schools can create magelight,” Professor Trott said. “However, only di-mages learn it on their very first day of study. Thought-mages and sign-mages must wait until mid-semester. Scribe-mages and song-mages don’t get their chance until spring. But for us di-mages, it’s the simplest spell we are capable of. With nothing but water, we can bring light into the world.”

He flicked his fingers and the glowing orb collapsed into nothing. “Students, I hope this gives you an idea of the magnitude of the power that has been entrusted to you. As you learn, you must remember—there are rules as to how this power may be used for a reason! You must never, ever experiment with magic. Doing so could bring great harm to yourself and to others. Your studies are a path that has been carefully paved for you. Stray, and you will find yourself lost in the wilds of dangerous, unstable magic. Follow, and you will enjoy a rewarding life as one of the most valued mages this Kingdom is able to produce.”

He set his empty glass down on the desk with an impassioned thump. The black-and-white cat, which had been curled into a peaceful ball, hissed angrily and leapt to the floor. Professor Trott blinked and stared for several long seconds at the spot where it had just been.

“Ohoho, did anyone hear something?” he asked.

\- - -

Grayson pressed his fist into his stomach and released a quiet, watery burp. He’d been gulping down water on and off for the past fifteen minutes. His bottle was only halfway empty and he already felt like an overfilled waterskin.

He turned toward Malia and murmured, “It’s not just me, right? This is a lot?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”

“I mean, I could probably do it, but it’s not gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

“I’m not sure digestive magic is _supposed_ to feel good.” She took a small, placid sip. “At least we can take our time.”

On the other side of the classroom, Kara cried out in excitement. A tiny mote of light was floating over her palm. It fizzled and winked for a moment before it disintegrated.

Professor Trott hobbled over. “Oho, a successful spell on your first try? You’re a natural, my dear!”

“Really?” Kara’s face split into a wide grin. “Can I do it again? Or do I need more water for it to work?”

“Oh no, you should certainly be able to get a few castings out of one filling. Do try again! See if you can hold the spell for longer this time. Now, how are _you_ doing, young man?”

Bramley was sitting with his brow furrowed and his eyes screwed up tight. “I drank the water,” he said uncertainly. “But it’s not working.”

“You must _focus_ on the spell to unleash the magic. Keep at it! It’ll come to you.”

Grayson stared down at his bottle. Dusty sunlight from the window gleamed against the glass and shone through the remaining water, spilling rainbows onto his desk. His stomach gurgled quietly.

“Professor?” he asked, putting up his hand.

“Yes?”

“When you did your demonstration, you drank much less, didn’t you?” Grayson felt Malia’s eyes slide over to him and continued a little more confidently, “Is it really necessary to drink everything in this bottle to for the spell to work?”

“Ohoho, well, I am an old hand at this spell, as you might imagine! I’ve been doing it for decades. You can, of course, cast on any amount of water. The best could do it with a single sip, oho! But as a beginner, it simply stands to reason that you will need to drink more, doesn’t it?”

“Um,” said Grayson. He wasn’t too sure his question had been answered.

Luckily, Malia was a bit quicker on the uptake. “So what you’re saying is, beginners normally have to drink the full amount, but with practice and experience, it becomes possible to cast with less?”

“Precisely!” said Professor Trott. “Of course, you could try to cast having only consumed half the bottle if you wish. It’s not unheard of, but it takes quite a bit of mental ability."

“All right." Grayson was willing to try. "But… Professor, how _do_ you cast?”

Professor Trott put his head to the side. “What a question! Simply focus on the spell.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” said Grayson helplessly. “Should I just... imagine what I want to happen?”

“Really, it’s quite straightforward! Maintain your focus and the rest will happen naturally.”

"...Okay." Grayson closed his eyes, raised a hand, and tried as hard as he could to envision light blossoming over his palm. He imagined how it might feel—warmth in his palm, energy tugging at his veins. He twitched his fingers. He tried tightening his stomach muscles slightly, even though it hurt.

Absolutely no power stirred within him.

“Of course,” said Professor Trott, “it would take rare talent indeed to cast your first spell without a complete filling. Indeed, the more you can drink, the easier it will be.”

“Right….” Grayson picked up the bottle, wincing at the weight of it. “My stomach is just so full.”

“Ohoho, that is the life of a di-mage, young man! But if you’re struggling already, you’ll need to work on your capacity. Fill your belly all the way up at every meal and your appetite will grow in no time. My goodness, you’ve done it again!” And the professor bustled across the room to examine Kara's second-ever spell.

Malia touched Grayson’s elbow. “We could work on it together, Ives. Expanding our stomach capacities, I mean. I’ll push you and you’ll push me. What do you think?”

Grayson sighed and pressed his fingers into his belly. It felt so tight and full, but… it _could_ be fuller. Stomachs were designed to stretch, right?

“I think a smart girl once told me that if I’m stuck being a di-mage for life, I might as well be a good one,” he said.

Malia grinned. “Bet I can finish the rest of my water before you can.”

\- - -

Class broke for lunch hour around noon.

The bad thing about a belly full of water, Grayson decided, was having to use the bathroom three times in one hour. The good thing was that the fullness moved through his system so quickly that he had plenty of room for the heaping pile of sandwiches Malia challenged him to eat.

He was picking at some remaining scraps of cheese and tomato when a loud but friendly voice rang across the dining hall: “Hey, small fry!”

It was one of the third-years, the stocky blond boy whose name Grayson couldn’t quite recall. He pulled up a chair and plunked himself down between Malia and Bramley.

“Small fry?” Kara raised an eyebrow, matching his good-natured bravado. “And who do you think _you_ are, kid?”

“Tim Gardener. Proud third-year student. You probably saw me at the Banquet last week.” He flashed a toothy smile. “Enjoying your first lesson? Did ol’ Trott do that thing where he gives a pretentious speech about power and responsibility with a ball of light hovering right under his chin so you could see up his nose?”

“Yep.”

“Haha! Glad to hear the old man hasn’t lost his touch. Anyway, I just popped over to invite you all down to The Belching Bear tomorrow night.”

Malia wrinkled her nose. “The—the what?”

“It’s a pub. Just a couple blocks down the hill. Not the best food or cheapest drinks in town, but it’s the closest place to the school, and the portion sizes prove that they know exactly who their best customers are. Even di-mages leave with full bellies.” Tim winked at them before continuing, “All of us third-years will be there. Maybe the second-years, if we can convince them. I wouldn’t miss it, if I were you!”

“Sounds like fun!” said Kara. “I’ve been itching to kick back with a beer or two.”

“Great! Tomorrow evening, around six, all right? Hope to see you all there!”

\- - -

The afternoon session was more relaxed, although no more enlightening. Professor Trott lectured for another half hour on the importance of sticking to the textbooks and avoiding experimentation. Then he gave a rather convoluted account of the history of digestive magic, which, as far as Grayson could gather, had been accidentally discovered seven hundred years ago by a thought-mage after a particularly heavy dinner. By the end of class, the first page of Grayson’s notebook was filled with a few half-hearted bullet points and five games of hangman with Bramley.

Grayson’s big lunch hadn’t surrendered a lot of room in his belly by dinnertime. But with Malia’s encouragement, he managed a heaping plate of food and went back for seconds. For dessert, they piled a big bowl of chocolate-dipped strawberries, a box of almond tarts, and a whole platter of little tea cakes onto a tray. They carried the food back up to the common room and spread it all out on the coffee table in front of the fire.

“Let’s make a pact that we’ll finish all of this between us,” said Malia. “Even if we get full.”

“ _Get_ full? I’m already stuffed!” Grayson complained. But he shook Malia’s outstretched hand and reached for a tea cake.

“You guys planning to share?” asked Bramley, parking himself on the other end of the couch.

“Oh Creator, yes. Take all you want!”

Malia snatched the pack of cards off the table and began shuffling. “Who wants to be dealt in?”

“Cards again?” Kara sighed as she sank into the chair closest to the fire. “If I play another card game, I’ll turn into my grandmother!”

“Well, it’s all we’ve got, isn’t it?”

Grayson held out his hand for the deck. “Here, I know a game that involves lying and swearing. You’ll be great at it.”

Kara _was_ good at it; she won the first round. She threw down her final card with a cheerful “Ohoho!” and the rest of the first-years laughed heartily.

“Gosh, how long do you think that man has been teaching?” Malia asked as she gathered up the deck. “I’m convinced he’s given the exact same lecture for at least thirty years.”

Kara shrugged. “Mages get assigned careers by the government, right? I guess once you’re a magic professor, you’re kind of stuck.”

“You could become the Headmaster or Headmistress,” Bramley suggested.

Malia shook her head. “Actually, you have to start off as an administrator before you can become Head of the School. Not a professor.” She began dealing out new hands. “Hey, here’s an idea for this round. Make a wrong call and not only do you have to take the discard pile, but you also have to eat. Losers get the last three almond tarts. What do you say?”

“I’m in,” said Grayson, even though he’d had quite a bit of dessert already. It was easy to eat mindlessly, he’d realized, easy to just reach over and grab a tea cake while the game distracted him. His belly was churning a little, starting to complain of overfullness, but that was okay. It could take more.

“What do you mean, you have to start in the administration?” Kara asked. “How does that make sense?”

“Well, the Dean is the one in charge of academic affairs here,” Malia explained. “You probably saw him at the Banquet; he’s a bald man with a big nose. _He_ was once a professor. But the Head is actually more responsible for policy and external affairs. Coordinating with the Royal Agency of Magic Affairs. Communicating with the other magic schools. Determining and applying school policy. Things like that. Bullshit, Ives, there’s no way you have two aces!”

Grayson grimaced. He put the extra cards in his hand and another strawberry in his mouth.

“How the hell do you know all this anyway, Malia?” Kara asked.

“I asked Headmistress Vale. Back at that horrible Banquet. I told her that her job sounded fascinating and asked her how she got to where she is now.”

“You thought to ask _that?_ ”

“Of course. It’s the first thing you ought to ask anyone in a powerful position. Has nobody ever taught you that? I call bullshit on that queen, by the way.”

“Joke’s on you.” Kara flipped over the top card, revealing it was indeed a queen, and Malia reached for the plate of tea cakes with a sigh.

“But you know what I find funny?” she continued once she’d finished chewing. “The school only has three professors, one for each year. There’s also a handful of researchers—who work to refine the spellbooks, I gather—but the bulk of the staff is administrative. Remember how many people there were at the Banquet? That's an awful lot of administrators, isn't it?”

“I guess it takes a lot of paper-pushing to run a school.”

“Enough for an administration that’s even bigger than student body? Not at any school I’ve ever been to before.”

“That does seem odd,” Grayson agreed. Not that he was an expert, but Mrs. Ellin had had fourteen students spread over six different grades and had managed everything herself.

Kara shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s probably just your garden-variety corruption. Everyone who works here is a di-mage, right? So I guess at some point, the school produced more mages than the government knew what to do with, and useless positions were created here so that they could get paid.”

“You really think the Royal Agency of Magical Affairs doesn’t have anything better to do with fully-trained, immensely powerful mages than put them in offices and have them pretend to fill out forms? Oh no, Bramley…!”

Bramley smiled slightly as he dropped the winning card onto the pile. “I lied about half my hand and none of you suspected a thing.”

“You just have such an honest face…. Ugh, pass me the penalty, then.”

Kara handed an almond tart to Malia and then took one herself. “What do you think the administration does, then? Did the Headmistress tell you?”

“We didn’t speak about it at length. But I’m sure they must do something. I just find it suspicious that—oofff—” Malia paused a moment to rub her stomach. “Owww, I’m so full… I think I need to stand up. Maybe some movement will help all this food go down.” She rose and began to pace very slowly around the table. The fabric of her dress clung tight against her bulging stomach.

Kara gave a low whistle. “Creator’s blood, Mal! That belly looks ready to pop.”

“It feels that way too. Will you pass me another tea cake, please?”

“What do you find suspicious, Malia?” Grayson asked.

“Oh, right!” She stifled a hiccup and said, “I just find it suspicious that there's three professors, twelve students, and maybe twenty administrators at this school. What the heck are all those people so busy administrating?”

\- - -

After one more round of cards, even Malia had to admit that her tummy couldn’t take anymore. Kara laughingly helped her upstairs so she could lie down. Grayson and Bramley stayed up a little later, quietly watching the fire die down and finishing the last dregs of the food.

“You feel okay?” Bramley asked as they split the last tea cake in half.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“I can hear your belly making noises.”

“Oh.” Grayson patted its side. “It’s all right. Just really full.”

“Think you ate more today than I did,” said Bramley with a chuckle, and through the haze of his satiated drowsiness, Grayson felt a little spark of hope.

Maybe he could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you guys, I’m back at school now and I don’t know how much time I’ll have to work on this fic, since I’m obligated to harness what little brainpower I possess to compose other things (such as stuff I get paid to write and, er, my thesis…. D:) So the next few chapters will probably be posted quite a bit more slowly than the first five! Thanks for understanding!
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr [@ginger-and-mint!](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/)


	6. The Belching Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first-years are menaced at the pub. Grayson’s belly gets bigger, but not quite how he wants it to. Kara shares a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: social drinking (to slight excess because Grayson is a bit featherbrained)
> 
> A huge thanks to [chubinecco](https://chubinecco.tumblr.com/), not only for beta’ing this chapter, but also for his thoughtful enthusiasm about these characters which generally gives me life.

The sun hadn’t quite set, but inside the Belching Bear, it might as well have been midnight. It was the kind of establishment that seemed to be perpetually caught in the wee hours of the morning, full of shadowy corners and drunken chatter and sputtering candles in cast-iron brackets.

Grayson followed his friends through the dim pub towards the quieter area at the back, where familiar faces were already halfway through a round of drinks. The entire third-year class was there—even Elliott, although he was sitting at the very end of the table and looked completely uninterested in speaking to anyone.

“Hey, first-years!” Tim jumped up as they approached. “I’ll buy you guys some beers! And if you want to eat, you should order that now too. Special today is potatoes and meat sauce.”

They all wound up ordering a meal, although some seemed more doubtful than others.

“I have to say, ‘meat sauce’ sounds worryingly nonspecific,” said Malia to Grayson as they waited near the bar for their beers. “It must be made out of organs and other scraps, don’t you think?”

“Offal won’t kill you,” said Grayson, who had, over the course of his life, eaten every body part a deer could imaginably possess.

“It can even be good,” Kara added. “You ever tried Sumorian tripe sausage? Delicious!”

“Well… I suppose it’s useful to expand my palate.” Malia sighed. “Here are the drinks. Come on, let’s find a place to sit.” Beer in hand, she crossed the room and approached the end of the table where Elliott sat alone, pushing a few stray potatoes around on a nearly-empty plate.

“Um, Mal—” Grayson began, but it was too late. She had already sat down and Elliott had already looked up.

“Yes?” he said flatly.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Malia Pikolt.” She extended a hand.

He regarded it distastefully. “No, I don’t believe we have,” he said, and looked back down at his plate.

“…May I ask for your name?”

He didn’t respond.

Malia frowned and glanced at her friends.

“That’s Elliott,” said Grayson quietly. “The guy Ryder told me about?”

“Oh! You’re the Headmistress’s son, aren’t you?” Malia attacked her target with renewed vigor. “How wonderful to meet you! I expect you must have such fascinating insights into the world of magic!”

That got a rise out of Elliott. “You expect that, do you?”

“Of course.” Malia’s voice was sweet and smooth as honey. “I’ve heard that you’re an extraordinarily talented mage. Perhaps we could chat over coffee sometime about—”

“I assume what you’ve _actually_ heard is that my mother is a very powerful woman. You think I can’t spot a grasping little sycophant when I see one?” He finally met Malia’s gaze, wearing a thunderous scowl. “Let’s make one thing clear now, shall we? I am very busy. I don’t have time for coffee, I don’t have time to share insights, and especially don’t have time for every simpering idiot that wants to beg for scraps at my mother’s table!”

“Hey—!” Grayson began, but to his surprise, Kara beat him to the punch.

“What’s your problem, huh?” she snarled. “You’re flinging insults and you don’t even know her name, do you?”

Elliott’s glare could’ve set the walls on fire. “I don’t need to. I know her type.”

“Are you serious? Her _type?_ Did you come down here to get to know us or not? She could be the greatest mage to ever stand in your sorry gaze and you’d never know, would you?”

A strong smell of lavender permeated the crackling air. Grayson glanced over his shoulder to see a freckled face surrounded by blonde ringlets. It was Allison, one of the third-years.

“What’re you guys doing over here?” she asked with very obviously feigned confusion. “Everyone is over at the other end of the—oh. Hi Elliott. It’s been awhile.”

“I suppose it has,” he responded stiffly.

Allison looked at him with something just shy of open distaste. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to see you here. How’s your recovery going?”

His cheeks flushed slightly. “My _recovery_ , such as there was one, is long-finished.”

“Yeah? I heard it was a nasty accident you had. Like, they were talking about holding you back a year so you’d have time to recuperate. I heard you were sick as a dog all summer. Like, you could barely eat lukewarm oats, is what I heard.”

“I’m sure you hear an awful lot of things, Allison.” Elliott stood up. “Forgive me for abandoning this terribly fascinating conversation, but I think I’m going to go order another meal.” He stalked off towards the bar.

“Showoff,” Allison muttered, just loud enough for Grayson to hear. She raised her voice and went on: “Aaaanyway, why don’t you guys join the rest of us down at the _nice_ side of the table? We’re all real interested in meeting you!”

\- - -

As promised, things were much nicer at the other end of the table. Ina had made an enormous box of sugar cookies, which she set in the middle with a soft, “Please take all you like.” Grayson did not plan on taking any at first, because he could still feel everything he’d eaten in class somewhere low in his belly, and he wanted to leave room for his dinner. But then he saw Malia take two and determinedly grabbed a couple for himself.

“These are really good!” said Kara appreciatively. “And trust me, I don’t compliment baked goods lightly.”

“Really good, yeah,” said Bramley. “And really nice of you to invite us all.”

“Don’t give us too much credit,” said Tim with a laugh. “We’re only upholding tradition. The older students are supposed reach out to the younger ones. We’re just glad you all showed up! Not like those boring second-years.”

“There are only two students in the second-year class,” explained Sara. “They coupled up during their first semester, so we barely see them at all.”

“Only _two_ students?” Malia raised an eyebrow. “Is that normal? To be honest, I expected our class to be more like twenty people than four.”

“The class sizes did used to be bigger, actually,” said Allison. “My grandpappa trained here something like six decades ago, andhe had twenty-two students in his graduating class. The number of di-mages in training has gone down slowly over time.”

“That’s fascinating. Is there a theory as to why?”

“Oh, many of them. But it’s hard to say for sure. My grandpappa says they’re working it out over in Kingswood, but it’s all classified stuff, so people don’t really talk about—oh!”

She froze mid-sentence like a mouse under the shadow of a hawk.

A man had approached their table. He was small in stature, yet his presence commanded the space. He had a small, neat mustasche and a shiny bald head. Near his collar, he wore a bronze pin shaped like a shield, with four letters stamped boldly across it: R.A.M.A.

“Good evening,” he said, smiling. “You’re the students from OSM, aren’t you?”

There was a very brief but very tense silence. Then Allison said, “Yes, we are. Can we help you, sir?”

“No, no. It’s only that I was kindly informed by your Headmistress that a student gathering was organized here tonight. She suggested that I come down to see for myself the nurturing environment that OSM’s student body creates for itself. I must say, I’m very impressed.” He glanced warmly around the room, as though he could imagine no finer environment for students than a dingy pub. “My name is Agent Smythe, by the way. I’m from the Royal Agency of Magical Affairs.” He tapped the pin at his collar.

“What brings you to Oppendorff, sir?” asked Tim politely.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? It’s OSM’s year on rotation. So you should get used to seeing me around.” He flashed another pleasant smile. “It’s been a long time I was last at your fine school. So much has changed. But I do keep running into familiar faces. It’s good to see you, young Mr. Vale.”

It seemed Elliott had quietly joined the group while nobody was looking. He nodded politely at the sound of his name.

“Anyway,” Agent Smythe went on, “I shan’t disturb you any longer. Enjoy your evening, students. And do stay out of trouble.”

As soon as he was definitely out of earshot, the table broke out in frenzied murmuring.

“That was a RAMA agent!” said Malia intently. “What did he want to speak with _us_ for?”

“No big reason, hopefully,” said Tim.

“They’re like the magic police, right?” asked Kara. “They make sure nobody’s breaking the rules?”

“Among other things. It’s just that the policing is what they’re… um, best known for.”

“What is he doing here? What did he mean, OSM is on rotation?”

“RAMA is technically in charge of every magic school in the country,” Allison explained. “The school Heads report directly to them. Every few years, each school is temporarily assigned an agent to make sure everything is operating according to their standards. That’s what he meant by ‘on rotation.’”

“So he’s gonna be breathing down our necks, basically?”

“I’m sure he’s more concerned with the researchers and administration,” said Sara. “We’re only students, after all, we haven’t got much to—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, because just then, waitstaff arrived with their meals. There was a moment of confusion as everyone tried to figure out who’d ordered what. When it was over, there was a single unclaimed beer.

“I think Elliott ordered that,” said Tim. “He was just here, wasn’t he?”

The students glanced around. Elliott was nowhere to be seen.

“Perhaps he went to the bathroom?” Ina suggested

“If he did, he’s taken his coat.” Allison rolled her eyes. “I think our favorite friend has just quietly ditched us.”

None of the other third-years said anything, but Grayson could see the long-suffering looks on their faces. A thought slipped from his mind to his tongue unfiltered: “It must be hard, going to school with that guy.”

Sara shrugged. “Well, he keeps to himself. He doesn’t usually bother us.”

“You mean doesn’t bother _with_ us,” said Allison bitingly. “I’ll bet you anything that he knew that RAMA agent was planning to visit us here. I’ll bet you his mother let that juicy bit of info slip to her precious little son. A decent person would’ve given us warning, but what does he do? Just slides his sorry ass in here long enough for the important guy to see him participating before running off into the night.”

“You really think he knew?” Tim asked.

“Why else would he show up? He’s never shown an interest in making friends before.” Allison turned to look at the first-years. “He doesn’t even stay in the Sage Apartment with the rest of us. He has his own quarters somewhere else in the school.”

“What?” Grayson asked. “How did he get that?”

“Pure nepotism, that’s how.”

“He’s lived at OSM since he was a child,” Sara explained. “His mother is the Headmistress, right? So when he became a student, I guess they gave him a choice between keeping his childhood room and moving in with us, and he decided to do his own thing.” She shrugged. “That’s Elliott for you. But why don’t we forget about all this? We have good food in front of us and it’s getting cold!”

\- - -

The meat sauce was delicious. Grayson was quite sure it was indeed made of entrails; he recognized the delicate texture of lung meat. But unlike at home, it was seasoned with something more than salt and served with a mountain of potatoes.

Tim hadn’t lied about the portion sizes. Grayson’s plate was as big as a serving platter and piled high with food. He plowed through about half of it before the overwhelming feeling that his stomach was about to burst forced him to slow down.

“Full?” Bramley asked.

“Mmpff.” Grayson swallowed his mouthful and struggled not to wince. “Ugh. A little. But I’m fine.”

“Not so sure about that.” Bramley raised an eyebrow and drained the last of his beer.

“I’m with Bram. Your tummy’s getting awfully big there, Ives.” Kara gave him a playful poke, which was more painful than Grayson wanted to admit. “You know, you ate a lot today. You don’t have to finish the whole thing.”

“I want to.” He patted his belly as it twinged and gurgled. Creator’s blood, it _was_ big—bloated solid with a full day of food, plus the current meal packed into his aching stomach, hard and tight under his ribs. “I—I can do it.”

He couldn’t do it. He called it quits with a quarter of the plate left, and Kara had to practically carry him back up to the school, because he was so stuffed and achy that it was hard to walk. He spent the rest of the evening slumped on a couch with a hot water bottle against his distended belly, watching as his friends played cards.

“Feeling any better, Grayson?” Malia asked after she’d won her third hand.

“A little,” Grayson lied. He tried not to stare at Malia’s stomach. It was so full of food that he could see the bloat even under her loose dress, yet somehow she was still reaching into the bowl of mixed nuts on the table.

Kara fluffed his hair on her the way to the kitchen to refill the tea kettle. “You know,” she said, “you have the tiniest stomach of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Ugh. I’ll get better.”

He had to. There was no way he could get worse.

\- - -

After a night of lying awake as his poor belly gurgled and cramped, Grayson realized that he wasn’t going to be able to keep with Malia. He went to breakfast the next morning with a new goal: eat until he was just barely uncomfortable, then take three more bites.

Mealtimes were a little more bearable that way. He was in less pain, at least. But as the week wore on, he began to hate the swollen, lethargic feeling that came with all the needless eating. His stomach was never empty; the bloat never fully went down before he was packing more on top of it. He swore that each time he ate, his belly stretched a little bigger, like a balloon full of wet sand. Whenever he bent over or stood up too fast, he could feel food sitting heavily inside him. His stomach was always strained, always uncomfortable, always groaning quietly with the effort of handling everything he gave it. It made him sleepy and disinclined to move, and _that_ made him ill-tempered and miserable.

Class didn’t help matters. Over and over again, he failed to cast.

On Wednesday, he managed to send a couple feeble sparks spitting from his fingertips. “Creator’s blood!” he yelped, knocking his book off the table. “I did it! I did it!”

“Well, almost,” said Professor Trott diplomatically. “That was a good start. Now you simply have to bring those sparks together into a sustained ball of light.”

Grayson’s spirits sank. “Okay. How do I do that? Should I—should I envision the light coming together? Should I do something different with my hands?”

“Oh, it’s nothing so complicated, young—er, what was your name?”

“Grayson, sir.”

“Yes, that was it! It’s nothing so complicated, young Jason. Just focus, and it will come to you!”

Grayson gritted his teeth, put a hand against his bloated belly, and tried to focus. Nothing came to him except a mild headache.

On Thursday, they started something new. Professor Trott set a brick on each of their desks and told them that they were going to learn the secret of cloaking objects in a veil of invisibility. “This spell is a little more complex. We must draw from three ingredient classes: fresh, savory, and sweet.”

They were each given a box with enough apples, cheese, and chocolate cake to host a picnic. Grayson ate until he could barely breathe, but it was no good. He just couldn’t get everything down.

His only comfort was that his classmates weren’t finding it easy either. Only Kara managed to make her brick flicker briefly out of sight that first afternoon. Malia consumed all the ingredients, but couldn’t cast and had to go lie down afterwards. Bramley stalled partway through the rich cake and spent the rest of the class with his head on his desk, hiccuping occasionally.

On Friday, Professor Trott announced that the following Wednesday, they were going to have their first exam. “There will be both a written and a physical component,” he explained. “The written component will focus on our discussions of the history of digestive magic. For the physical component, you will perform the spells we’ve learned so I can assess your progress.”

“Both the magelight _and_ the cloaking spell?” Grayson asked, horrified. “One after the other?”

“It will a test of your capacity as much as it is of your skill. Don’t worry, I do not expect a perfect cloak from any of you yet. Flickers of promise will be enough to secure you a top grade. Is everything clear? Are there any questions?”

Grayson put his hand up. “What happens if we fail?”

“Ohohoho! What a notion! You should never go into an exam believing you’re going to fail, Jason. Positive thinking is very important for casting. Any other questions? No? Then I’ll see you all next week!”

\- - -

On Sunday evening, the first-years went back to the Belching Bear, and Malia put away a whole portion of sausage and biscuits without breaking a sweat.

“Impressive,” said Bramley as she dabbed demurely at her mouth with a napkin. “You’ll be eating as much as me soon.”

“My tummy’s getting used to this.” She leaned back in her chair, letting it bulge forward. “Feel it, Bram.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he laid a big hand over her belly. “Wow. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not anymore. I think I’ve powered through the painful part.” She beamed. “It’s like my mother always told me: relentlessness is the enemy of failure.”

Grayson bit the inside of his lip to keep his expression from changing. After a week of being constantly swollen with food, he'd decided to give himself a break and was only a nursing a beer. His own mother had never told him anything to prepare him for this situation.

Kara was laughing. “Don’t get too cocky, Mal. You still haven’t managed the cloaking spell!”

“I’m sure I’ll get it tomorrow. I spent three hours practicing this morning and I swear the brick started to get a little paler towards the end. Are you all right, Grayson? You look like you’re in pain.”

“What? No. I’m just—uh, disappointed that I’m out of beer.” Grayson drained the dregs in his glass and forced a grin. “I’m gonna get another drink. Be right back.”

He let out a long, slow breath as he waited at the bar. He had to get himself under control. Malia _was_ doing well, and she was his friend. It would be petty to get all sour just because she’d succeeded where he’d failed. But… he had to admit, graciousness had never been one of his strong points.

A hand suddenly touched his shoulder. “You all right, Ives?”

Grayson nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to find Kara standing behind him. “Oh—yeah—um—what?”

“Something’s on your mind, kid. It’s like you’re only half-here.”

He shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“I don’t think so. You’ve seemed dejected all weekend. Are you worried about the exam?”

The bartender set their drinks on the counter. Candlelight glanced off the amber liquid, and Grayson realized that after two beers, he wasn’t gonna be great at hiding his feelings anyway. He sighed and said, “You sure this is a stone you want to turn, Kara? You get me started complaining about how screwed I am and I’ll never stop.”

“Ives, bitching about your problems is a key component of a healthy lifestyle! Back in Ayaladi, I used to meet up with friends to do it once a week.” She grabbed their drinks and steered him over to a pair of empty bar stools. “C’mon, vent a little. I can tell you need it. You think you’re screwed and…?”

The words burst out of him in a frustrated tide. “And Trott is completely useless about it! He just keeps telling me I’ll figure it out, but I can’t! The only thing I’ve managed to cast are some stupid useless sparks! Which, okay, wasn’t _nothing_ —at least I know I didn’t get the damn letter by mistake—but how am I ever going to catch up to the rest of you? How am I going to do anything other than embarrass myself at this exam on Wednesday? And that’s not even the half of it.” He took a long, angry pull from his beer. “I can’t go on eating this much. I feel awful all the time. Even when I’m not stuffed, I’m always like… bloated and foggy. It’s like having a constant headcold, with added stomach pain.”

Kara twirled a curl around her finger thoughtfully. “Hmm. Your body isn’t used to it, I guess. If you put me in the forest and told me to track a deer for two days, my legs and feet would hurt a lot. But in a couple months, I’d get stronger.”

“Yeah, but a couple months is a long time to spend feeling constantly sick and lethargic! Plus, I’m going to gain weight, because I’m eating but I’m not casting.”

“Personally, I think it’d do you some good. You’re nothing but sinew and bones.” Kara pinched the tiny bit of flesh at Grayson’s hip, making him flinch and scowl.

“Sinew, bones, and _guts_ ,” he said ruefully. “Ugh. I’m just glad my parents can’t see this. They’d be so ashamed, they’d disown me all over again.”

Kara blinked and sat up straight. “Disown you _again_? What?”

“Oh. Never mentioned that, I guess.” Grayson shrugged. “When I got my letter. They told me not to come back.”

“Shit.” Kara went uncharacteristically still. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care.”

“How could you not care?”

Grayson lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I just don’t.” There was a few seconds of heavy silence before he added, “Not like I can go back there anyway. I’m required by law to attend this school for three years and then I’ll have to move to wherever the government tells me to work for the rest of my life.”

“That’s true. But why disown you for becoming a mage? Shouldn’t they have been proud?”

“Where I’m from, people believe that your personality has something to do with any magical abilities you have. My parents thought I’d _done_ something to get that letter—been a glutton or whatever—and well… if you could meet them, you’d understand.”

“Heh. My dad swears that magical abilities have something to do with the phase of the moon at the time of your birth. My Great Aunt Janice thinks my mom must’ve walked on sacred ground while she was pregnant with me. Seems like everyone has a different theory as to how we got these powers. But if it makes you feel any better, your parents are definitely wrong. You’re the least gluttonous person I’ve ever met, Ives.” Kara paused. “Does it remind you of your family, when I call you Ives? I could give you different nickname. Gray, maybe?”

Grayson laughed. “That’s what Ben would always call me when he was trying to be sweet.”

“Who’s Ben? Your boyfriend?”

“More like… friend with benefits. Lots of— _hic_ —benefits.” A little giggle slipped out before Grayson could stop it. The alcohol was getting to his head, clearly. He drained the rest of his glass and said, “I mean, I’ve known the guy my whole life. Always been able to talk to him about anything. And he was the first boy I ever kissed. First boy who ever made me feel like I was, uh—I dunno—sexy or something. That really gets you, when you’re a teenager, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Kara smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“Think I would’ve gone crazy growing up that tiny village if not for him. We used to spend hours out in the woods, avoiding all the grown-ups.” Grayson felt his lips curve with nostalgia. “When we were kids, we’d build forts out of sticks and collect pocketfuls of bugs. He’d bring me old magazines from his parents’ shop and show me these big color photographs of faraway places—the mountains of Westridge, the deserts of Sumoria, the grand spires of Northern cities rising out of the fog. Places we could only dream of. I used to tell him all the things I was gonna see someday. He would laugh, but it wasn’t like when other people laughed. I could tell he didn’t think I was silly.” Grayson leaned on his palm. He could almost hear Ben’s ringing laughter in the blurred chatter of the pub. “Now here I am, and he’s still back there.”

“Did he want to leave too?”

“He talked about it now and then. But he’s pretty happy where he is, I think.” Grayson filled his mouth with beer to drown a hiccup. “I should write to him. Let him know I’m all right.”

“You should. He sounds like a sweetheart.”

“Did you— _hic—_ leave anyone back in Sumoria?”

“No one like that.” Kara shrugged. “Things ended with my last girlfriend almost two years ago. Since then… well, I’ve seen a few girls, but nobody special. It can be so hard to find someone _special_ , you know?” Her gaze went a bit distant. She cleared her throat. “Um… Ives, can I—can I confide in you about something?”

“Course you can.”

“I mean, really shouldn’t tell anyone, but I—I just gotta get it off my chest, you know?”

“Then spit it ou—”

“Am I crazy for thinking Malia is the most attractive girl I’ve ever laid eyes on?”

Grayson nearly spat out his mouthful of beer. He glanced back over to the table where Malia was leaning back in her chair, her hands folded neatly over her belly as she talked with Bramley. “Wait—what—really?”

“ _Yes._ I mean, shit, that girl’s got it all! She’s smart, she’s pretty, she makes me laugh. She’s got ambition as big as the sky and the determination to match it. And honestly, there’s something so sexy about a woman who can plow through a mountain of food like it’s nothing. She’s… she’s just _amazing._ ”

“She’s easy to admire, that’s for sure. But… do you think she would…?”

“No. I think she’s straight as a needle, not a shred of bi-curiosity in her at all. And trust me, I’ve got a second sense for that kind of thing.” Kara sighed. “It would ruin our friendship if she knew. Make everything weird. You understand, right? I thought if anyone might understand, it’d be you.”

“I do understand. Completely. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep my damn mouth shut, that’s what. What else _can_ I do? I’ll keep my mouth shut and wait until I come to my senses. And in the meantime, try to find some other girls who are into girls. If there _are_ any out here in the sticks.”

“Oh come on, the city’s not that small. There’s bound to be a girl or two for you.” _And maybe a guy for me,_ Grayson added mentally. That would be a welcome distraction. He swirled the dregs of his beer in the glass, then paused, frowning. “Wait, didn’t I finish this?”

“Yep. You’ve been drinking mine.” Kara grinned at him.

“Shit. Sorry! You should’ve said something!”

“Don’t worry, just finish it off. You can buy me one next time.” She patted his shoulder as he stared guiltily at the mostly-empty glass. “Anyway, you know who I think you should talk to? Sara. She was a city courier before she got her letter. I’ve heard she knows some running trails out in the woods. Getting some fresh air and exercise might make you feel more like yourself.”

“Oh! Yeah.” Just the idea of going into the forest filled Grayson with a sudden calm. “You’re right, that’s exactly what I need.”

“Not to sound like ol’ Trott, but I’m sure the rest will fall into place. Because you _are_ a di-mage, Ives. You shot sparks out of your fingers, and as useless as you might think that is, it proves that you do  _belong_ here. Don't forget that."

He couldn't help but grin. "You’re right.”

“Course I am.” She yawned and stood up. “Now, what do you say we get back to the others before they start to think we’ve ditched ‘em?”

“Good ide—oops!” Grayson nearly lost his balance as he slid off the stool. “Shit. Three beers may have been— _hic_ —a little much for a Sunday night.”

“You think?” Kara laughed and poked his stomach. “You’re bloated with it. Maybe you could manage a magelight spell with a belly full of beer instead of water?”

“Ugh. With my luck, I’d probably burn the place down.” He swatted her hand away. “Also, the next time you touch my belly, I’ll snap your damn arm off.”

“You’re a feisty drunk, huh?” She gave him a little shove, then caught his arm to keep him from falling. “You’ll be glad I have both my arms when I have to carry you back to school.”

“Very funny. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be fine.”

And he was, more or less. But he did sleep particularly deeply that night, and for the first time in over a week, he woke up hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> [Come talk to me on tumblr!](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/)


	7. The First Exam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bramley eats too much cake. Grayson fails an exam. Ryder makes a proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a big thanks to [chubinecco](https://chubinecco.tumblr.com/) for his beta skills!

The leaves were starting to change. Green still dominated the forest, but subtle blushes of red and yellow caught Grayson’s eye as he ran along the winding dirt track between the trees. There were more pines here than at home, and he wondered if things wouldn’t look so dead in winter as they did back in the south.

He felt right in the woods, like his body was wired into a familiar system. Out here, he could sense the direction of the wind, recall the last rain from the softness of the dirt under his feet, and smell the promise of a frosty night hanging in the air. He didn’t recognize any of the birdcalls, though. This forest was new—unfamiliar, yet friendly.

On the path ahead of him, Sara slowed to a light jog. Grayson adjusted his pace too, wondering if she was getting tired. They had been running uphill for awhile now, and he could feel air starting to catch in his lungs. But then they rounded one last bend and forest fell away, leaving an outcropping of mossy rock jutting out into the sky.

Sara came to a stop near the edge. “This is the end of the path,” she said, panting slightly. “Usually I take a break here before turning around. The view’s really nice.”

She was right about that. Below them, the tree-carpeted hill sloped down to the big gabled roof of the school. Beyond that, Oppendorff sparkled in its valley. The sky was blue with dusk now, and lights had just begun to flicker on in the streets and houses, making the city glimmer like a pool of stars caught in a fold of the landscape. Even further out, tiny bright patches marked the villages that were strung along the rivers like beads on a silver cord. A slim crescent moon was just rising over the mountains.

Such a big world, Grayson thought. And so strange that he had ended up in this little corner of it.

\- - -

The common room was dark and nearly empty when Grayson got back from his run. Only Bramley was there, sprawled on a couch. Grayson thought he was asleep at first, but then he stirred slightly and mumbled the word, “Hey.”

“Hey, Bram. Mind if I turn on a light?” He reached for the lamp. “Where are the girls?”

“Library. Studying.”

“Ah. Figures that they would—whoa, are you all right?”

Now that there was light, Grayson could see that Bramley was rubbing a stomach so big and round that a little stripe of skin was peeking under the hem of his shirt. He shook his head, groaning. “My— _hic_ —my belly hurts.”

“Yeah, um—you look really bloated. What did you eat?”

“I ate a cake.”

“ _A_ cake? A whole cake?”

Bramely pointed weakly at the platter-sized dish sitting on the coffee table. It held nothing but crumbs, a fork, and one tiny sliver of soft yellow cake. “Almost. _Hic._ ”

“Holy shit.” Grayson looked from the plate to Bramley’s stomach and back. “How…?”

“Kara made it for me. So I could— _hic—_ practice the cloaking spell. ‘Cause the cakes made by the school keep making me— _hic_ —feel sick. Too sweet.” Bramley’s stomach gurgled, as thought it were remembering those times it’d been stuffed with so much sugar. He paused to burp quietly into his hand. “I didn’t mean to eat this much. I was already— _hic—_ full from dinner. Just wanted to try a little piece… but it was _so good._ ”

“So good you only left one slice?”

“Mm. I just ate until no more would fit.” He shifted slightly on the couch, and his swollen tummy made a low, unhappy sound, like a load of gravel shifting in a turbulent stream. “Ooh— _urp_ —and now I don’t feel very good….”

“That’s… not surprising, honestly,” said Grayson. “Let me make you some tea, Bram. We have some kind of minty blend that’s been helping me a lot.”

He groaned and shook his head. “Too full to— _hic_ —hold anything more.”

“Even drinking a little bit helps. Trust me.”

Grayson went to put the kettle on. As the water heated, he dug through the cabinets until he figured out where Kara had stored the hot water bottles, filled up the biggest one, and brought it over.

“Ooh, thanks.” Bramley laid the bottle on the crest of his belly and let out a strained hiccup. “Owww. Hurts worse than after that Banquet.”

“Aww.” Grayson gave Bramley’s hair a soothing pat as he perched himself on the arm of the sofa. “I guess studying isn’t going so well then, huh?”

“I was trying earlier.” Bramley pointed to his notebook, which was spread-eagled on the floor. “Was reading. This morning I went to the library and— _hic_ —sat there, trying to memorize all the history. But I’m not— _hic_ —very good.”

“Were you just staring at your notes by yourself? It’s a lot easier if you have someone quiz you, y’know.”

“Yeah, um….” Bramley’s cheeks turned very slightly pink. “Ina saw me there. Offered to help. But… I said no.”

“Why?”

“Uh. _Hic._ I dunno.”

The kettle whistled and Grayson went to finish making the tea. His insides curled a little at the strong smell of mint. He was starting to associate that smell with feeling sick to his stomach, which was a shame, because he’d always been fond of the peppermint candies that Ben used to sneak him from the shop.

Getting Bramley into a sitting position was not easy. Whenever he moved even the slightest bit, his tummy sloshed and he moaned in discomfort. Eventually Grayson managed to use the couch as a brace and haul him upright by the arm.

“I feel weird,” Bramley gasped, then flinched as his belly rumbled angrily. The belch that came out of him was so enormous that it seemed to shake dust off the rafters.

“Oops.” His face turned bright red. “Sorry.”

Grayson was laughing. “That was impressive, Bram.”

“Uh— _urp_ —thanks? _Urp_ —sorry.”

“Relax, just let ‘em out. You’ll feel better once you get rid of the gas.” Grayson handed him the mug of tea. “Drink a little. And here, put one of these pillows behind your lower back. It kinda pushes your belly forward. That always helps me too.”

“Thanks,” said Bramley again. And then he suddenly added, “I guess I was— _hic_ —afraid she would think that I’m stupid.”

It took Grayson a moment to realize that he was talking about Ina. “Oh,” he said. “Well, do you plan to eat a whole cake on a full belly in front of her?”

“Urghhh.” Bramley massaged his stomach. “No. Never again.”

“Good. That’s the only dumb thing you’ve done since I met you.”

“Oh! _Hic._ That’s—that’s nice of you to say.”

There was a brief, warm silence, punctuated only by quiet hiccups and the sound of tea being carefully sipped.

Then Bramley asked, “What about you? Do you feel ready? For the exam?”

“Um….” Grayson squirmed nervously. He’d spent the morning nursing a sloshy stomach and trying fruitlessly to will light into existence. “Not really.”

“S’hard to remember all those dates.”

“Yeah. For sure.” He scooped Bramley’s notebook up off the floor, and even though he’d pretty much memorized all the dates already, said, “Want me to quiz you?”

\- - -

The next morning, Grayson woke up to Daisy the cat kneading her paws into his shoulder.

“Huh?” he mumbled once he was awake enough to realize what was happening. “What…? How did you get in here?”

Daisy mewled and padded across the bed. She leapt lightly to the top of Grayson’s dresser and rubbed her chin against his box of tonics, purring.

“Hey!” He jumped up to shoo the cat away. “Don’t disturb that. I need those!”

Daisy purred loudly and bumped her cheek against Grayson’s hand, and in that moment, he had a sudden strike of inspiration.

That afternoon, he hung back after lecture to speak with Professor Trott.

“Excuse me sir, I was wondering if it’s—”

“Hmm? What’s that?” Professor Trott pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted. “Ohoho! Yes, Jason, what is it?”

“Is it allowed to use tonic during the exam, sir?”

“Tonic?” The professor drew himself up to his full, not-very-considerable height. “Hmmph! Can’t abide by that stuff, numbs you right up, I for one would never…. But it’s permitted, yes, yes.”

Grayson’s heart leapt. There was hope for him yet.

\- - -

The written portion of the exam happened early on Wednesday morning. Then they had an hour’s break—theoretically for lunch, although nobody was crazy enough to actually eat—before they entered the room one-by-one for the practical component.

Grayson was last to go. He wasn’t happy about that at first, because he was sure he’d look even worse in comparison to everyone else. But it turned out to be a good thing, in the end.

His friends were waiting in the hallway outside the exam room. The moment they all stopped talking and turned to look at him was awful. He could feel their sweet supportive excitement, like they were all so sure that in a moment they’d be laughing and smiling and congratulating him, the way they had when Malia had announced she’d managed to cloak her brick and Bramley had said he’d made his flicker.

“So, Ives?” Kara asked. “How’d it go?”

“Um….” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Pretty bad.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah, uh—I think I need to… um, sorry—”

He brushed past them and took off running. He ran down the hallway, around a corner, through a door, and up a flight of stairs before finally skidding to a stop on the landing, panting slightly. He had no idea where he’d planned to run— _away_ had been the first priority.

He wanted to crawl into bed and stay there for at least ten years.

Instead, he went to the Soothing Room.

He’d hoped it would be empty, but it wasn’t. One of the beanbags was occupied. Grayson didn’t recognize the mage. She looked too old to be a student—a researcher, he supposed. She paid him no attention.

Ryder was sitting at his desk with his chin in one hand, poring over a book full of numbers. He looked up as Grayson approached.

“Grayson Ives,” he said mildly. “You don’t look so well. Need a tonic?”

Grayson shook his head slowly. “No, I… I think I’ve had enough tonic for one day. I just—um, can I talk to you?”

Ryder closed his book and set down his pen. “Of course. What troubles you?”

“Our class had an exam today.”

“So you did.”

“And I, um… I didn’t do very well.”

“No?”

“No.” Grayson swallowed hard. “I—I threw up.”

“Oh.” Ryder’s face softened. “Is that why you look so wretched?”

“It… it was so _humiliating…._ ”

“It happens to the best of us, Grayson. No need to be ashamed. Every di-mage alive has suffered an inconvenient nauseous spell, I promise.”

“Yeah, but—but in their very first exam?” Grayson could feel heat flooding his cheeks. “After it happened, I was just sitting there—all disgusting, looking like some kind of idiot ‘cause I felt awful and I didn’t know what to do—and Professor Trott looked like I’d just slapped him in the face. He said—he said this wasn’t good at all and that he was going to have to speak to the Headmistress about me! I’ve never been so ashamed! And….” Grayson paused a moment, embarrassed, but his apprehension vanished when he saw the earnest, compassionate look in Ryder’s eyes. “…Ryder, is it bad that I hate this?”

“Hate what? Being a di-mage?”

“It’s just—I don’t see how it’s gonna get any better. Am I gonna spend my whole life being terrible at what I’m supposed to do? It’s like—back home, I had to go out and kill things even though I hated it, and here, I have to eat even though it makes me sick, and I never—I don’t really _want_ any of it! I just want my stomach to stop hurting! I just want to feel good and not hurt anything, I want to do _nice_ things for a change, I want to—!”

He broke off there, because he honestly wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. Maybe it was like his parents had always said—you just had to bend your head and work at what you were told to do. Maybe he’d been foolish to imagine that even in a world as big as this one, it was possible to find a place where you actually felt you belonged….

There was the rushing sound of boiling water. Grayson raised his head.

“Cup of tea,” said Ryder with a small smile. “Settles an overfull mind as well as it does an overfull stomach.”

“I’m not all that full anymore,” Grayson mumbled bitterly, but he accepted the tea anyway. It smelled strong and sweet, like some kind of flower he didn’t recognize.

“Now why don’t you tell me what happened?” said Ryder.

Grayson took a slow, steadying breath. “I… think I misused your tonics. Professor Trott told me I could use them for the exam, so I drank one right before I started. And it really helped! But I guess I didn’t realize how full I was getting. One moment I felt—well, mostly fine. The next, I was sick.”

“Ah.” Ryder’s brow creased. “Yes. Tonics _can_ allow you to eat more by promoting digestion and dulling the pain, but they don’t actually increase your physical limits. You’ll still vomit if your stomach is too stressed. I don’t recommend using them while you’re casting, actually, because they numb you to what’s happening inside. That can result in unpleasant surprises, as you discovered.” His frown deepened. “Did I not explain all of this to you and your classmates? When I first told you about tonics?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh dear.” Ryder put a hand to his forehead. “Normally I wouldn’t believe I could’ve forgotten. But… I suppose I haven’t been sleeping nearly as much as I should lately.”

Grayson eyed the towering stack of paperwork sitting on the end of Ryder’s desk. “You always seem so busy, Ryder. Why don’t they hire you an assistant?”

He smiled wryly. “It’s not the quite that simple. An assistant can’t come from just anywhere. Soothers must be di-mages themselves. I was once an OSM student, just like you. After my proving exam, I was apprenticed to the Head Soother at the time and learned the craft.”

“So one of the current third-years will become your apprentice at the end of the year, then?”

“Well, it’s not so—” Suddenly, Ryder broke off and sat bolt upright.

Out in the area with the beanbags, someone was coughing.

“Grayson, take that red box from the corner shelf and follow me, please,” Ryder said, and then he rose and swiftly vanished out into the room.

Something about Ryder’s tone of voice made Grayson’s blood run cold. He nearly dropped his tea in his hurry to obey. The box was made of wood and painted bright red. It wasn’t very big, but it was so heavy that he had to use both arms to carry it.

He found Ryder was kneeling next to the woman he’d seen on his way in. She was shuddering on her cushion, eyes screwed up tight in pain, and she was struggling to breathe. Each breath rattled as she sucked it down and came out again as a harsh, hacking cough. Something that looked like viscous white smoke poured slowly from her open mouth.

“What’s happening?” Grayson asked nervously. “Can I help?”

“Yes. She’s in pain. Comfort her, Grayson.” Ryder took a big bottle of dark liquid out of the box and tore off the cap. He put it to his lips and began to drink.

Grayson stared down at the distressed mage, bewildered. Comfort her? This wasn’t exactly like giving Bramley a hot water bottle after he’d eaten too much—something was seriously wrong here. But there had to be something he could do.

He knelt beside the mage and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said, voice shaking slightly. “You’re gonna be okay. Ryder’s gonna help you.” He noticed that one of her hands was digging at a spot on the upper part of her belly, slightly to the left. It was the same place, he realized, where he’d suddenly felt pain right before the nausea had hit him back in the exam room. Maybe she felt that same tight, sickening pressure he had.

Grayson carefully moved her hand away and put his own hand in its place, pressing very very gently and watching her face. He saw a flicker of relief there, so he pressed just a little harder, rubbing with his fingertips in gentle downward strokes.

On the other side of the cushion, Ryder had downed all the dark liquid in one long draught. He dropped the empty bottle, put a hand to his mouth, and burped very quietly. Then he took a bundle of something grassy out of the box and began chewing it.

“Ryder is almost ready,” Grayson told the mage. He had no clue whether that was actually true, but his voice sounded more confident now. “He’s going to help you. You’ll be all right soon.”

Ryder swallowed, winced, and said, “Get back, Grayson.” Then he put a hand on the mage’s belly and closed his eyes.

She gasped in a lungful of air, like someone who’d nearly drowned breaking the surface. The white smoke trickled to nothing. Grayson watched, transfixed, as Ryder’s hand took on a strange pearly luminescence. The sheen slowly spread up his arm and outward, until his whole body had a soft halo, like the moon’s. It flashed bright, then vanished, and Ryder opened his eyes.

“Blanket,” he said, and Grayson handed him a folded blanket lying on a nearby crate. Ryder shook it out and draped it over the mage, who was now sleeping peacefully. “Very good,” he murmured. “She’ll be fine.”

Grayson let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “What _was_ that, Ryder?”

“That, Grayson, was a spell very nearly going badly. Would you be so kind as to help me up?”

Grayson put an arm under Ryder’s shoulder and helped him to his feet. Ryder thanked him primly and walked back to his desk unassisted, but Grayson stayed close to his side, half-expecting to have to catch his arm. If Ryder had looked tired before—and he had—he now looked utterly exhausted.

“Was it hard?” Grayson asked. “That magic you just did?”

“Yes. But it should not have been quite this draining.” Ryder sank into his desk chair with a sigh. “I’m starting to realize how severely I’ve been neglecting myself.”

“Can I get you anything? Water? Or…?”

Ryder laughed “No, no, though it’s considerate of you to ask.”

Questions were swarming Grayson’s head like flies. “What actually _happened_ back there? Could that woman have died?”

“She might’ve. At the very least, she would’ve been badly injured. But we prevented it.”

“What went wrong? How did you fix it?”

“Well, when a mage loses control of a spell, the magic may not channel the way that it’s… oh, let’s not bother with the mechanics of it now. What matters now, Grayson, is that you did a very good job helping me back there.”

“Oh!” Grayson glanced down modestly. “Thank you. I just did what seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Very good instincts then.” Ryder left a long pause. “Are you familiar with the saying, _if the thunder rolls before the lightning strikes_ ….”

“… _then you shouldn’t turn a deaf ear,_ ” Grayson finished. “Yeah. My dad loves that one. It’s a Southern saying, isn’t it?”

“Very much so. I spent some time in a mining town near the southern border in my youth, you know.” Ryder rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “Grayson, may I ask—what’s your impression of my job? What do you believe I do all day?”

“Well… you make sure nobody hurts themselves, I suppose. And you help people. The way you helped Ina during Orientation Week. You make tonics. You seem to do an awful lot of paperwork. I guess you must have to keep this place clean….”

“Well-observed. And what do you think of soothing, Grayson? As a craft? Do you respect it?”

“Yes. Absolutely. You just saved that woman’s life like it was nothing!”

“Would you be interested in becoming a soother yourself?”

Grayson was speechless.

Ryder smiled slightly. “Not to get anyone’s hopes up, but I may have an idea….”

\- - -

Not twenty-four hours later, Grayson was sitting in an airy meeting room in the Administrative Wing, struggling not to feel self-conscious under the gazes of Professor Trott, Headmistress Vale, and a nondescript middle-aged man who was apparently the Dean of Students.

At his side, Ryder sat and calmly explained his idea. “It’s unconventional, I know. But I am desperately in need of some help around the Soothing Room. And Grayson does not seem to be flourishing alongside his classmates. Perhaps his fate lies on a different path.”

“He _is_ failing to catch onto things that most students manage quite handily,” said Professor Trott. “I find myself at a complete loss as to what can be done.”

Grayson stared down at the table. It was so finely finished he could almost see his reflection in its surface.

The Headmistress cleared her throat. “Mr. Kline, you’ve had your pick of the graduating class for several years, and you’ve repeatedly declined your right to choose an apprentice. Now you wish to make a special arrangement for an underperforming first-year. Why?”

“Timing, in part. As you know, external requests to OSM’s Soothing Room rose sharply this summer. I can’t keep up. I’d planned to hold out until the end of the year, but my overwork is starting to affect my job performance. You understand as well as I do that a reliable Soothing Room is essential for ensuring the safety of everyone who casts under this roof.”

“You could take one of the third-years on early. But you want Mr. Ives.”

“Yes. With all due respect, Headmistress, good casters often would not make good soothers. Many aspects of the job can’t be taught. One must simply wait for the right person to come along. I’ve noticed a certain blend of compassion and willfulness in this boy that I believe would predispose him towards my type of work.”

Professor Trott turned his owlish eyes on Grayson. “And you’re certain you want to give up your studies, young man? ”

Grayson nearly laughed. How desperately he wanted that! Before he could open his mouth, the Headmistress broke in.

“He would _not_ be giving up his studies,” she said sharply. “Soothers must also be di-mages. There’s a reason why apprentices are usually taken after graduation. Mr. Kline, are you suggesting that this student enters an apprenticeship with you while also completing his regular coursework? I fail to see how this will help him succeed.”

“I’ve given this some thought,” said Ryder. “Grayson has fallen well behind his classmates in terms of his practical abilities with magic. I believe he would benefit from working with a personal tutor.”

This was the part of the plan that Grayson was still unsure about. Sitting in a room as one single person watched him struggle sounded awkward. Then again, at least he wouldn’t have to keep up with his classmates. Plus, he was pretty sure a brick wall could teach him better than Professor Trott could.

“It could be quite an agreeable arrangement,” Ryder went on. “On Mondays and Wednesday, he could attend theoretical lectures alongside his classmates. Two other days of the week, he could work in the Soothing Room with me. He can lighten my workload and I can teach him the craft. On the fifth day, he could be tutored in practical magic. I’m sure one of the third-years would be willing and able. After all, one of them must become Professor Trott’s apprentice next year, in preparation for his retirement, isn’t that so? I believe Ina would be suitable for the job, she has demonstrated—”

“A third-year?” said the Headmistress. “A good idea. I shall ask Elliott.”

Grayson barely bit down on his lip in time to stop his protest. From the slightly overlong silence around the table, it seemed the others had done the same.

“I’m sure your son has his eye on more prestigious prizes than a teaching position, Headmistress,” said Ryder after a moment.

“He’s the best third-year student we have. I see no reason why he shouldn’t tutor Mr. Ives.”

“Surely he must be quite busy with—”

“Very well, Ryder, you shall have your apprentice. I shall speak with Elliott tonight and we shall get all of this arranged by next week.” She turned to the Dean of Students. “You’ve been very quiet. Do you agree?”

“What?” The Dean blinked, as though he’d just been woken up. “Hmm. Yes, of course.”

“Then it’s agreed. Grayson Ives, you are officially OSM’s Apprentice Soother. I congratulate you and wish you the best of luck.”

\- - -

“You mean you basically _work_ for the school now?”

“No. It’s an apprenticeship, not a job.” Grayson sipped at his tea. There was nothing in his stomach except two pieces of bread and a lot of warm liquid. He felt incredibly good. “And I’m still a student anyway.”

“But this means that you _will_ work for the school, then?” Kara shot him an incredulous look as she placed a folded dishcloth in the middle of the kitchen table. “Like, your fate is basically sealed?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you’ve agreed to this, personally,” said Malia from an armchair across the room, where she was flipping idly through her textbook. “There are so many opportunities out there for di-mages and you’ve just thrown them all away. What if it turns out that you hate working in the Soothing Room?”

“Well, what if _you_ wind up hating whatever job you’re assigned when you graduate from this place?” Grayson shot back. “For the first time in my life, I could choose what I wanted to do! So I did. I don’t think I’ll regret it.”

“I don’t think you will either, Ives,” said Kara as she set a piping-hot tray of cookies down in front of him. “Not for a moment. Well—maybe a little bit when you have to spend a couple hours a week one-on-one with _Elliott_ , of all people.”

“Yeah… Ryder didn’t seem very happy about that either.” Grayson made a face. “But what can you do? You can’t exactly tell the Headmistress that her son is really unpleasant to be around.”

“Guess not.”

“Maybe he won’t agree to it. He didn’t seem too keen on being a mentor figure to Mal back at the Belching Bear.”

“Yes, that _was_ rather rude,” said Malia without much rancor. “I suppose he’s stressed. I would be too, with the exam that decides the rest of my life coming up at the end of the year.”

“So what? If we all shouted and blustered around whenever we were stressed, the world would be intolerable!” Kara’s lip curled. “Personally I think he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed asshole. The other third years are super nice to us, and they have the very same—hey, I’m watching you!” She pointed an accusing finger at Bramley, who had suspiciously wandered into the kitchen just as the smell of cookies had begun to permeate the common room. “Only two cookies for you tonight, young man! I’m not gonna let you eat yourself sick this time.”

“Ugh.” Bramley’s face went a little pale at the memory. “No. Never again. I just want to taste one…”

“They came out of the oven like ten seconds ago! You have to let them cool.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Bramley pulled back his hand guiltily. He dropped into the chair opposite Grayson and tried to pretend like he wasn’t staring at the tray out of the corner of his eye.

“So when do you start learning this magnificent craft, Ives?” Kara brushed the flour off her skirt. “And when are you scheduled for a snark session with Mr. Vale?”

“Ryder told me to come see him in the Soothing Room on Tuesday,” said Grayson. “As for the tutoring—I have no idea. It’ll start sometime next week, I guess.”

But the next morning, Grayson came downstairs to find a note on the breakfast table informing him that his first tutoring session would take place that very afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you folks know, I have a super crazy March coming up, so the next update may take a little longer than usual. (Then again, I'm really excited to write the next chapter, so maybe not...)
> 
> In the meantime, come check out [my tumblr!](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/) I've started posting [extra content](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/gnm) related to this story there.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	8. Illumination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grayson finally gets it. Elliott shows off. Malia makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a big thanks to [chubinecco](https://chubinecco.tumblr.com/) for catching the stuff I miss. ^^

“Hello,” said Grayson, trying not to sound as awkward as he felt.

Elliott did not reply. He was sitting on one side of a table laden with open books, dishes of food, glass bottles, and sheaves of paper. In front of him sat what appeared to be a stew pot full of oatmeal. He was staring down at it, slowly stirring out the lumps.

Grayson crossed the empty classroom and quietly took his seat. On the walk over, he’d resolved that he was going to be calm, civil, and patient—an ideal student—no matter what sort of casual disrespect was thrown his way. He wasn’t expecting much from this meeting, but at least he could keep his dignity.

A long moment passed before Elliott looked up. “Oh,” he said. “I remember you.”

The dismissive tone of his voice made Grayson bristle. “Do you? I’m honored.”

Oops. So much for civility.

“Yes. You’re the first-year who had a score of three on his entrance evaluation. I should’ve known it would be you needing remediatory work.”

“Didn’t I get a score of six, in the end?”

Elliott continued as though he hadn’t heard. “September is nearly over and you’ve not cast a single spell.”

“I’ve cast a little,” said Grayson reproachfully.

“You’ve managed ‘flutters of magic,’ as Trott puts it.” Elliott tapped a sheet of paper sitting in front of him. “I have his report on you right here. Since you presumably want to be a mage and not a butterfly, ‘flutters’ aren’t going to cut it.”

Grayson felt the hot pressure of indignation building at his temples. “And you think _you_ can help me?”

“Of course I can.” Elliott began to gather his academic sprawl, marking the pages in his books and setting them aside in a neat stack. “You’ll be caught up to your classmates by the end of the day. I hope you’ve noticed from the contents of this table that I expect you’ll attempt a cloaking spell as well as magelight in this session?”

Grayson hadn’t noticed. He’d come to associate cloaking with the same three foods that Professor Trott always provided them: apples, cheese, and chocolate cake. But as his brain ground into gear, he noticed that Elliott had brought pears, slices of cooked chicken, and some kind of soft, purple cream that definitely looked like a dessert.

“Fresh, savory, and sweet,” he said. “Okay. And what’s that for?” He pointed to the bowl of oatmeal.

“That’s for me.” Elliott scooped up a spoonful and swallowed it down. “You’re cutting into time I’d planned to practice my own magic. Luckily, I can fill myself up and tutor you at the same time.”

“Hey, it wasn’t _my_ choice to do this now.” Grayson eyed the stack of empty dishes sitting near Elliott’s books. “Creator’s blood, how much have you eaten? What kind of spell are you doing?”

“None of that is your concern, is it?” Elliott’s voice was light but cold. “Let’s get started. Tell me the two things you need to know before you begin casting any spell.”

“Uh….” Grayson hadn’t been expecting anything theoretical. “Um—what you want to do? And… how to do it?”

Elliott sighed. “It’s quite literally on the very first page of your textbook. Do you know how to read or am I going to have to teach you to do that as well?”

“Nobody ever told me to read that page….” said Grayson a little lamely. He leaned over to fish his textbook out of his bag. As he grabbed it, the old cracked spine finally came apart and sent pages scattering all over the floor.

“Shit.” Grayson scraped his chair back to start gathering them up, but Elliott raised a hand to stop him.

“Don’t bother. It was probably on the verge of death anyway. You’d think nobody in this fucking school is capable of a simple restoration spell….” He pushed a much newer-looking book across the table. “Take my copy. I’ve practically memorized it anyway.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Grayson carefully opened the book to the first page. “ _Before you begin any piece of digestive magic_ ,” he read, “ _you’ll need to know the filling and the average minimum of your spell._ Okay, so… the filling is the stuff you fill yourself with, I guess?”

“Obviously. So the filling for magelight is?”

“Water?”

“Correct. And the average minimum is?”

Grayson was silent.

“Did Trott not explain to you what an average minimum is?” Elliott rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Of course he didn’t. Useless man.” He flipped Grayson’s book to the magelight spell and pointed to the neat line of text that said _Avg. min. 2 L._

“The average minimum tells you approximately how much filling you’re going to need. As the name implies, it’s the average value—the amount that will work for most mages. Some need a little more and some a little less, at least in theory. Personally, I think the standardized values are all much higher than they need to be.” Elliott tapped a finger against one of the glass bottles of water he’d brought. “This is half the average minimum for magelight. You’ll start with that.”

“Um—I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Elliott’s eyes narrowed. “I’d assume you don’t know much of anything. Otherwise we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“It’s just that Professor Trott told me it’s harder to cast with less. And I’ve only managed, um—like you said, flutters—even with the full amount. Don’t you think—?”

“I think two liters is a damn lot to have in your stomach for nothing but a miserable ball of light! How do you feel when you drink that much water all at once, Grayson Ives?”

“Uh—pretty bad.”

“And the discomfort distracts you, doesn’t it? It keeps you from fully accessing your potential.” Elliott stabbed his spoon into his oatmeal as though it had personally offended him. “Too many mages waste their capacity on this ludicrous idea that more filling automatically gives them more power. Digestive magic is a matter of balance. Your goal is to create the optimal balance between the amount of power you put in your stomach and the precision with which you can access it. Understand?”

Grayson nodded mutely.

“Trott is right that you can work your way down,” Elliott went on. “But that doesn’t look like two liters to one liter. That looks like _this_.” He raised one of the bottles to his lips and took four neat swallows.

A mote of magelight bloomed to life over the table. It rose majestically towards the ceiling and then exploded into a hundred glowing droplets, each of which twinkled for a few moments before winking out.

“Wow.” The word slipped out of Grayson’s mouth with quiet awe.

Elliott smirked as he pushed a bottle across the table. “Your turn.”

“I can’t do it like that!”

“Then show me what you _can_ do.”

Grayson sighed and picked up the bottle.

A couple minutes passed. Grayson took careful sips, trying not to upset his stomach. Across the table, Elliott ate oatmeal with practiced, mechanical speed.

One liter of water wasn’t so bad. Grayson felt full but not bloated by the time he set down the empty bottle. “I’m done.”

Elliott dropped his spoon and coughed into his hand. “All right, show me.”

Grayson took a deep breath, held out his hands, and thought about light.

Nothing happened.

“What are you doing with your fingers?” Elliott asked sharply. “Trying to be a sign-mage?”

“Doesn’t the light come from your hands?”

“Of course not. It comes from your belly. What idiot told you that your hands had anything to do with it?”

“No one, it’s only that when Professor Trott demonstrated—”

“You can will the light into existence wherever you want. Many mages use their hands as a guide, to help them narrow their focus to a specific space. But it’s not necessary. You could cast the ball of light in the entry hall from here, if you wanted. Well—no, I’m sure _you_ couldn’t. _I_ could.” He somehow managed to look smug while stuffing a big spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

Grayson sighed. “Yes, you’re very talented, I get it. Just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“Don’t think about your hands. Think about the space between your hands. Now try again.” Elliott raised a hand to his mouth to stifle another cough, and this time Grayson was certain he was trying to disguise a burp.

Elliott _had_ to be full. He’d eaten probably a third of his oatmeal in maybe ten minutes and there was a stack of empty dishes on the end of the table nearly up to his shoulder. There was no way anyone could eat so much and _not_ feel full, right? And yet, he didn’t look uncomfortable at all. Was he hiding it? Or was it really that easy for him? How much stomach capacity did you need to be a half-decent di-mage?

“What are you waiting for, Ives? Winter’s first snow? Try again!”

“Um—right.” Grayson dragged his mind back to his work. He cupped his hands and focused as hard as he could.

After a long, long minute of nothing, he let his hands drop. “Ugh, I just can’t do it!”

“Oh come _on_. This is very, very basic magic.”

“For _you_ , maybe!” Grayson couldn’t keep himself from snapping. “Not all of us were born and bred to be di-mages, okay?”

Elliott blinked. “Born and bred? Who told you that?”

“Everyone. That’s what everyone says,” said Grayson sourly. He realized, with a slight jolt of self-consciousness, that he sounded like a petulant gossip. But whatever. Better a gossip than an arrogant jerk.

“Flattering to hear that _everyone_ talks about me.” Elliott shuffled a few of the papers in front of him. “Anyway, they’re wrong. Becoming a great mage isn’t as simple as being born. Not even for me.”

“You’re a _great_ mage, are you?”

“The best at this school, that’s for damn sure. So—if you’re done being impudent….” He pushed another bottle across the table. “Drink half of this and then try again.”

Grumbling under his breath, Grayson swiped the bottle off the table and wrenched off the cap.

“Oh, and try to get over yourself a little,” Elliott added. “I could see the frustration seething under your flimsy skin the moment you walked into this room. I suppose it must be discouraging to be singled out from all your classmates and told you’re falling behind before you’ve even properly started. But you won’t be able to cast unless you clear your head of all that. Magic requires focus, not passion.” He paused to cough. There was a quiet rumbling sound.

“Was that your stomach?” Grayson asked stupidly.

Elliott’s stare could’ve given frostbite to an ice-bear. “This is a school for digestive magic, Ives. If you feel the need to remark every time somebody’s stomach makes a noise, people are going to find you very tiresome. Aren’t you done with that water yet?”

“Yeah.” Grayson set the bottle down and took as deep a breath as he could manage. He felt bloated now, his belly gurgling a little unpleasantly. “All right, here’s what I don’t understand, Elliott. How am I supposed to actually start the spell? Like, what am I supposed to think about to make the magic?”

“It’s less of a thought and more of a feeling. You can’t direct the magic until you engage it. You’re not _creating_ the power, Ives—it’s in you already, it’s in your stomach. You just have to find it. Close your eyes and try to feel it. What do you feel in your belly?”

“A lot of water? It just feels uncomfortable.”

“Get past that. You have to overcome the discomfort. What else do you feel?”

“Um….” Grayson tried to imagine the water inside him becoming light as air. He pictured each little twinge inside him as a stone and he picked each one up, examined it, threw it aside when he saw it wasn’t what he wanted….

And then suddenly, he felt something connect. It rushed outwards from his belly through his veins like hot, beautiful fire. His eyes flew open to see what looked like a glittering cloud coalescing before him. In his shock, he lost his hold of the connection, and the cloud faded to nothing.

“I did something!” he gasped. He felt a little shaky, as though he’d been shot through with electricity.

“Yes. That was your magic,” said Elliott. “Access it again. And this time, once you feel it, think about what you want to do with it.”

Heart racing, Grayson closed his eyes and searched again for that nexus of power. It was amazingly easy now that he knew where to look. He found it waiting in the pit of his stomach, bright and burning. He took hold of it and let it fill him up. Then he opened his eyes and focused.

A ball of blue light appeared over the table. It glowed, bright and solid and steady, until Grayson lost his grip again.

“Not bad,” said Elliott. “So you’re not hopeless, just terrible.”

Grayson’s mouth dropped open. “Terrible?! I thought that was pretty good!”

“Pretty good if you only need to see in the dark for three seconds. Try again, and hold it for longer this time.”

After half an hour of practice, Grayson could hold the magelight for a full thirty seconds and make it materialize across the room. Elliott seemed satisfied with that and declared that it was time to move on to the cloaking spell, which meant it was time for Grayson to fill his stomach again.

“What do you notice about the structure of the filling I’ve provided for you, Ives?”

“Uh….” Grayson wiped his mouth as pear juice ran down his chin. “It’s different from what we had in class?”

“Yes. It is. Because the filling Trott makes you use is terrible.” Elliott swirled his spoon in his oatmeal. He had less than a quarter of the bowl left—although that was still quite a bit to eat, and Grayson couldn’t help noticing that he’d slowed down considerably. “He gives you apples first. Apples are crunchy. Your jaw tires right away. Then he gives you cheese, which can be nauseating with its strong taste, and _then_ —stupidest of all—he saves the heaviest ingredient for last. Chocolate cake. Rich and very sweet. Absolutely moronic.”

“Yeah, I always feel kinda sick when I get to the cake,” Grayson admitted. “What’s this purple stuff you’ve brought instead?”

“Blueberry cream. It’s light and quick to eat, even on a full stomach.”

“Huh. I never thought about planning ahead like that.”

“Well, start now. Use half a brain cell when structuring your filling and your spellwork will come easier and turn out better. Mild, light foods are easiest to eat. Don’t make your stomach work harder than it has to.”

It _was_ a lot easier to get down Elliott’s version of the spell filling than the one they’d been using in class. Still, Grayson had trouble finding the kernel of magic with so much food in his belly. He grasped it a couple times, but couldn’t manage to make the stone he was supposed to cloak do more than flicker before the power slipped away.

“Good enough for today,” said Elliott when the hands of the clock on the wall marked the hour. He scraped the final spoonful out of his bowl, ate it, and then pushed the empty dish away with a sigh. “You’re not exactly a prodigy, Ives, but you’re slightly less incompetent than I was led to believe.”

Grayson wasn’t quite sure what to stay to that, so he kept his mouth shut.

“You’ll work on cloaking again next week. I want you to decide yourself what ingredients you’ll use, in what amounts, and bring them to your next lesson. I’ll send you a note about the time. Do you have any questions?”

“No, I don’t thi—”

“Fantastic. Goodbye then.”

“Er—goodbye.” Grayson tucked Elliott’s textbook under his arm, grabbed the strap of his bag, and got up to leave.

Halfway to the door, he paused and turned back. “Elliott? Was that oatmeal the last thing you needed to eat for your spell?”

“…Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious. About the spell. Can I watch you cast it?”

Elliott left a long pause. Grayson could almost see his aloofness and his pride wrestling in his head.

“Fine,” he said. “Watch then.”

He stood. It looked a little difficult—he had to grab the edge of the table for support—and Grayson wondered again if he was secretly uncomfortable from everything he’d eaten. He _had_ to be achingly stuffed. It seemed like a physical impossibility that he wasn’t. But he gave no sign of discomfort, and if his belly was swollen, it was impossible to see under his loose jacket.

He clasped his hands in front of him, closed his eyes, and then slowly turned his palms upward.

Sitting on his interlocked fingers was a tiny black bird. It blinked and tilted its head, chirping quietly.

“Holy shit,” Grayson breathed. “Did you—is that really—?”

Elliott opened his eyes and stared indifferently at his work. “It’s only an illusion. Not really there.”

“Creator’s blood….” Grayson could see the definition of each feather and the beady glint of the eye. “It looks so real!”

Suddenly the bird spread its wings and froze unnaturally. It rose to hover a few inches from Elliott’s palm, stiff as a wooden carving suspended from a string.

Elliott sighed impatiently and let his hands drop. The bird exploded into a few fizzling sparks. “Not real enough,” he said, sitting back down and taking a book off the top of his stack. “I have work to do. Leave me.”

Grayson nodded. “Thanks for your help, Elliott. I actually learned—”

“When I ask you to leave, I expect you gone. Understand?”

Any fleeting gratitude Grayson had felt soured to annoyance.

“Fine,” he said shortly, and left.

\- - -

Kara was sitting at a table in the work area of the library, poring over a book. She nearly jumped out of her chair when a mote of light bloomed into existence under her nose. “Ahh! What the hell?”

Grayson was leaning against a bookshelf a few yards away. “Impressed?” he asked, grinning as Kara’s eyes found him.

“How did you _do_ that?” She glanced from his face to the light and back. “Hey—you’re casting!”

“I am!” Grayson let the magelight stutter out and dropped into a free chair. “Elliott may be a huge pain in the ass, but it turns out that he’s a decent teacher.”

“Hmph. Don’t be too quick give him all the credit. I told you all you needed was a little time!” Kara clapped him on the shoulder. “Real proud of you, Ives.”

“Thanks.” Grayson wrapped his arm around her and gave her a quick squeeze. “So how was class? Where are the others?”

“Class was—eh, you didn’t miss much. Trott went on another one of his rambles about the dangers of magic, how we shouldn’t stray from the path before us, blah blah blah. Totally boring…. Bramley’s over on the other side of the library with Ina. He’s still having trouble with the cloaking spell, so she offered to help him.”

“Oh! That’s really nice.”

“Personally I think she’s trying to prove herself a little. All the third-years think she should’ve been chosen to tutor you over Elliott. But that’s none of my business, I guess.” She pulled the sort of sour face that suggested she definitely considered it her business.

“Probably. But what can you do,” said Grayson with a shrug. In his experience, nepotism was just the way the world worked. “Where’s Malia?”

“She went to go find some books or something. Oh, which reminds me—Trott assigned us an essay."

“An _essay?_ Like writing?”

“Yes, like writing. Due next month. Ten pages on a magical subject of your choice. We’re supposed to come up with topics over the weekend and run ‘em by Trott next week, so start thinking about what you might be interested in.”

“Oh. Wow. I have no idea.” Writing had never been Grayson's favorite subject. “Do you know what you’re going to choose yet?”

“I have some thoughts.” Kara turned the book in front of her so that Grayson could see the title: _Sumorian Magic, Ancient to Modern_. “Writing about the history of magic in Sumoria would be cool. It’s a pretty interesting story.”

“Is it? I thought—er, sorry if this is ignorant—but I thought magic was introduced to Sumoria when Zlott annexed it.”

“It was _re-_ introduced. We actually used magic way before the rest of this country. The old Sumorian society was built on it. But then the mages got too powerful and the common folks got pissed.” Kara flipped to a rather bloody illustration of a well-dressed man being clubbed by a gang of peasants. “There was a big civil war, a bunch of people were murdered, and magic was punishable by death in Sumoria for like, two hundred years afterwards. Until Zlott came into the picture. The Zlottish king convinced the Sumorian emperor to allow young Sumorians to be tested for magical potential, and now here I am.”

“Wow.” Grayson stared at the look of anguish on the poor illustrated murder victim’s face. “I had no idea.”

“You don’t learn about it in school? We sure do. But I guess it’s because the Mage War was so brutal, some of our cities were practically razed. You can still go out and see craters in the ground on some of the old battlefields, I did that with my class when I was—oh, hey Mal!”

Malia had appeared between the bookshelves. She said nothing, only stared at them intently.

“Um, are you all right?” Kara asked.

Malia hesitated, then nodded, then spoke in an uncharacteristically soft voice: “Guys, would you come with me for a moment? There’s something I want you to see.”

\- - -

“What _are_ these, Mal?” Grayson stared up at the shelves that lined the walls of the little room. They were packed, floor to ceiling, with purple-bound books.

“They’re yearbooks.” Malia carefully closed the door behind them. “OSM yearbooks, spanning all the way back to the school’s establishment a little over three centuries ago. The old ones are just lists of students and employees, but the modern ones have more. Photographs, interesting events, articles about contemporaneous developments in digestive magic.”

Grayson took one from a nearby shelf and flipped it open. Neat rows of student photographs smiled back at him. “How did you find this?”

“I want to write my essay on the history of OSM. So I asked the librarian whether the school keeps any kind of interesting records around.”

“Oh, the cute bearded guy? Did you seduce him with your passion for literature?” Kara said it teasingly, but Grayson didn’t miss the tension in her voice.

Malia sighed. “He’s not so cute when you actually talk to him, it turns out. I’m not sure he’s ever actually _opened_ a book. But he told me that the yearbooks were kept in this little room. And—now we come to the strange bit—he also told me that some of them were out of circulation for restoration.” She pointed to a large gap in the neat ranks of purple spines. “There.”

“What’s so strange about that?” Grayson asked.

“Try putting your hand on that shelf, Ives.”

Grayson tried. His knuckles cracked sharply against empty air.

“Ow!” He jumped back as a book suddenly materialized out of nothing and fell spread-eagled on the floor. “What in the—?”

“The shelf is full.” Malia reached out and pulled a second book out of thin air. “All the yearbooks are exactly where they’re supposed to be. But someone has put some kind of cloaking spell on that part of the shelf, so that it looks like some of the books are missing.”

“Holy moly.” Kara reached out and brushed a finger against one of the invisible spines. “No kidding! But why?”

“I was wondering that too,” said Malia. “So I did a little investigating. The cloaked books span a time period of about thirty years. This the most recent of them, from nineteen years ago. And here’s the book from eighteen years ago—the oldest one that was left uncloaked. Notice anything different about them?”

“Um—one’s a lot thicker than the other?” said Grayson.

“Exactly. Take a look.” Malia handed one of the books to Kara and the other to Grayson. “Nineteen years ago, there were one hundred and twelve students enrolled at OSM. The next year, there were only thirty-six.”

There was a moment of silence as Grayson and Kara flipped through the books and realized the truth of it.

“But… that makes no sense,” said Grayson finally. “Even if the school graduated a lot of third-years and admitted very few first-years….”

“Almost fifty students seem to have simply vanished over the summer,” said Malia. “I cross-checked the names of the rising third- and second-year classes in the two books. They match up, but more than half of the students are missing. They’re just gone.”

“How, though? It’s not like you can drop out of magic school!”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Malia grimly. “And that’s not all. Eighteen years ago, OSM admitted seven first-year students. In all of the books more recent than that, the new classes are small. No more than ten students. But _before_ that—in all of these cloaked books—there were at least thirty students in each new class. Remember how Allison told us that the number of new di-mages has gone down slowly over time?”

“You’re saying that’s a lie?” Kara asked. “That the number of new di-mages actually took a sudden nosedive eighteen years ago?”

“If these books are to be believed, yes. And since someone was trying to hide them, I’d vouch for their truthfulness.”

“You really think _Allison_ lied to us?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not Allison telling the lie. She must’ve only repeated what she’s heard. And the people she heard it from probably only repeated what _they’ve_ heard, all the way back to the lie’s true source. People place far too much trust on word-of-mouth, especially in the absence of written records.”

“But why would someone hide the books like that?” Grayson asked slowly.

“Obviously they wanted to conceal the information, Ives. Powerful people tend to hide truths that are inconvenient to—”

“No, I mean why _hide_ the books? If you wanted that information gone, wouldn’t it be safer to just—I don’t know, throw them all into a fire?”

Malia tipped her head in concession. “Good point. I have no idea. All I know is that something strange happened at this school eighteen years ago. The number of di-mages dropped off, students vanished, and someone has tried to reshape history to draw attention away from it.”

There was a moment of bleak silence.

“Why tell us all this, Malia?” asked Kara eventually. “Not to darken the mood any further, but, uh—if the people who’re trying to cover this whole thing up are powerful enough that everyone already _believes_ the lie—well, we could be in some deep shit if they find out we discovered these books.”

“That’s part of why I told you. There’s safety in numbers. One person with a dangerous secret is easy to stop. A tragic accident could befall me without raising any eyebrows. Making all three of us disappear would be a lot harder. Not impossible, but harder.”

“Oh, cool,” Kara muttered.

“But I’m also trying to help you guys. Honestly.” Malia fixed them with a very serious look. “Have you two ever thought about how dangerous it is to be a mage?”

Kara and Grayson exchanged glances.

“I mean, Professor Trott only talks about it every other day,” said Kara. “I guess you can have pretty bad accidents if you don’t know what you’re—”

“That’s not what I mean. Have you ever considered how much _power_ we have? Power has to be controlled. That’s why it’s illegal not to attend school, right? That’s why the Kingdom decides where we’re going to work and what we’re going to do. That’s why sometimes, people disappear. I don’t know what those students did wrong. Maybe nothing.” She glanced down at the faces on the pages of the yearbook, then back up at her friends. “If you want to play the system, you have to know what strings to pull. I thought it was best that you guys know about this.”

Kara was silent a moment. Then she closed the book in her hands and passed it back to Malia. “Look, I appreciate the thought. But I’m not a politician, all right, I don’t like the idea of people playing other people as though life is a game of Farmers and Merchants. I’d rather just stay out of it all.”

Malia nodded. “All right. I can respect that. What do you think, Ives?”

“Uh….” Grayson didn’t think much of anything. He felt totally overwhelmed. “I guess—I guess that I think—”

A loud, angry rumbling sound broke into his sentence. He pressed a hand against his stomach, surprised. “I think I’m—I’m _hungry?_ ”

“Sounds like it,” said Kara with a weak laugh. “Is that a new sensation for you or what?”

“It’s just that I was really full not even an hour ago.”

“You’ve been casting today, haven’t you? Magic burns through your meals pretty fast.”

“Oh, you’ve been _casting?_ ” said Malia. “So the tutoring session worked out, then!”

“More or less.” Grayson stomach rumbled again, and he winced. “Uh, how about we keep talking over dinner?”

“Sounds good. Anything to get out of this awful room.” Kara shivered.

“I just need to put the books back.” Malia felt along the invisible spines and carefully slotted the yearbooks into place. “There. No one will know we’ve touched them. Let me go out first and check if anyone’s watching. I think it’s best if nobody knows that I brought you in here.”

Grayson was pretty used to being sneaky. That came from having strict parents, not to mention spending much of his life stalking skittish animals through the woods. But he felt uncomfortably as though he were the deer rather than the hunter as he and the girls slipped out of the little room and back to the main area of the library.

More than hunger pangs were gnawing at the pit of his stomach. It all made so much sense now—why the building was full of disused and dusty classrooms, why the school sometimes felt like a shrunken remnant of something that had once been much grander. Down in the dining hall, Grayson couldn’t stop thinking about those faces in the yearbook. Had they sat at the very same table? Had they eaten from the very same fork?

He was paying so little attention to his dinner that he mindlessly ate way too much and had to take a hot water bottle to bed to settle his stomach. Nevertheless, he fell asleep that night with his mind fuller than his belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to make you guys wait so long! And this chapter that isn’t even all that kinky. But I hope way the plot is finally picking up makes up for it. ^^
> 
> If your thirst for kink has not been adequately slaked, come check out [my tumblr](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/), where I’ve been posting some bonus scenes and other stuffing-related prompts.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading!


	9. Gut Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first-years go outside. Grayson gets his first soothing lesson. Ryder fields an inquiry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the anon on Tumblr who reminded me about OSM’s garden and to [chubinecco](https://chubinecco.tumblr.com/) for catching the things I miss.

Elliott’s copy of _Introductory Spellcraft_ was worn, but from use, not generations of careless neglect. The cracked spine had been carefully reinforced with tape and rather than being dog-eared, pages were marked with bits of sticky paper. The book bristled with them, and they were all color-coded—red for spells, blue for concepts, yellow for conversion tables. Even more abundant were the notes in the margins, written in a surprisingly untidy hand:

**_Length of time spell can be sustained is relative to initial vol._ **

**_Can replace salt with bitter; easier to get down_ **

**_Do not cast this on an otherwise empty stomach_ **

“This guy is a total nerd,” Grayson murmured to himself as he sat at his desk, flipping through the book.

It was unexpected, although perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Grayson had just heard so much about Elliott’s magical pedigree and doting mother that he’d assumed his skill was all natural talent and nepotism. But it was obvious that whatever unfair advantages Elliott had, he’d at least worked hard not to waste them.

Maybe Grayson had misjudged the guy.

The sound of the door made him look up. It was Bramley, bursting into their shared study with a broad grin on his face. “Grayson! I did it!”

“What’d you do, Bram?”

“The cloaking spell! Ina says I’m making good progress. Getting the hang of things.”

“Hey, that’s fantastic!” Grayson got up to clap Bramley on the shoulder. “Good thing you decided to let her help you, huh?”

“Yeah.” Bramley’s cheeks glowed pink. “She’s so nice.”

In the back of his head, Grayson heard the echo of Elliott’s reaction to his own success— _so you’re not hopeless, just terrible—_ and thought, no, he had not misjudged the guy at all.

\- - -

The weekend brought the first of the autumn rains, but on Monday morning, watery sunlight broke through the clouds. After lecture, Grayson and Kara went out to the school gardens to sit in the warm grass and enjoy the last of the summer fruits.

“I’m gonna miss these,” said Grayson emphatically, reaching into the bowl of berries they’d gathered. “I never had anything like ‘em at home. We had a blueberry bush, but those were always tiny and bitter.”

“It’s ‘cause you don’t get any sun down in those foggy foothills, huh?” Kara laughed. “In Sumoria, we grow berries twice this sweet.”

“I thought Sumoria was a desert!”

“Mostly, yeah, but we have irrigation like you wouldn’t believe. Aqueducts, canals, massive systems of wells and springs. In Ayaladi you can find a public fountain every three blocks. And it was all built by magic, hundreds of years ago! I’m learning so much from writing this essay, honestly.”

“Shit, you’re gonna be done before I’ve even chosen a topic.”

“Don’t you have any ideas?”

“Just one.” Grayson ran a hand through his hair. “I was thinking I could write about soothing. I might as well—”

He broke off at the sound of footsteps coming up the path. Malia strode into view, looking thunderous, with a nervous-looking Bramley following a few paces behind.

“Hello,” said Malia shortly. She dropped her bag on the grass and plopped down next to it, scowling.

Kara pushed the bowl of berries in her direction. “What’s up? You look pissed off.”

“Trott said no! To my essay topic!” Malia snatched up a strawberry, bit the top off, and spat it out. “Apparently the history of OSM is ‘not of sufficient interest to the magical community.’ Meanwhile, _Bramley’s_ topic was just fine!”

“Oh? What’re you writing about, Bram?”

“Uh….” Bramley looked intensely sheepish. “Onions.”

“…Onions?”

“You heard him.” Malia said sourly. “He’s writing about onions. Not the uses of onions in digestive magic. Not the historical significance of onions in the magical culture of Zlott. Just _onions.”_

Bramley’s blush deepened. “I think… maybe I didn’t understand the assignment.”

“I just fail to see how the history of our own _school_ isn’t relevant enough, but root vegetables are perfectly fine!”

“The old man is losing his mind,” said Kara with a shrug. “Maybe he forgot what an onion is.”

“Or maybe he knows about those yearbooks you found,” said Grayson.

Malia’s eyes snapped to him. “What do you mean? How could he?”

“Well—not about the books, but about the incident they’re trying to hide. Whatever it was that happened eighteen years ago.”

“Creator, not this again!” Kara complained, but Grayson ignored her and kept talking.

“Professor Trott must’ve been teaching here eighteen years ago, don’t you think? He’s old enough. So he probably knows what happened. There could be a reason he doesn’t want you digging into the school’s past. Maybe he’s trying to protect you.”

Malia considered this for a moment. “Do you really think Professor Trott has the _wits_ to try to protect me?”

“No matter how senile you get, I guess you don’t forget half your students disappearing over the summer.”

“That’s true…. Gosh, if that’s the case, I wish I could ask him what he knows!” Malia pressed her fingers to her lips thoughtfully. “Who else might’ve been here eighteen years ago?”

“The Headmistress?” Bramley suggested. He’d been filled in on the yearbook situation at breakfast a few days previously, although he hadn’t seemed very interested.

Malia shook her head. “She said she’s been Headmistress for only ten years during her speech at the Opening Banquet, remember?”

“Don’t the yearbooks list staff members as well as students?” Grayson asked. “We could go back and look for familiar names.”

“Yes.” Malia’s eyes lit up. “And—Ives, what if we could find the surviving students? The ones who _didn’t_ disappear?”

“You think that’s possible?”

“I don’t know, but if we write down the names, at least we can—ow!” Malia broke off as a blackberry hit her just above the eye.

“Sorry,” said Kara, “but I had to try to knock some sense into you! Am I seriously the only one who thinks this is an awful idea?”

Malia wiped a drop of juice from her brow. “People _vanished,_ ” she said firmly. “We owe it to them to figure out what happened.”

“Do we really?” Kara raised an eyebrow. “Whatever happened was probably unfair and terrible, but it _already happened_. We can’t help those people now. They’re probably dead. We, on the other hand—we’re _alive_.” She glanced around to make sure they were alone before adding, “Let’s not pretend we don’t know who’s responsible for this cover-up thing. It’s either the school or the government. Have you considered the fact that the rest of your life is at the mercy of those two organizations?”

Grayson hesitated. There was a nagging feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t quite describe. “…I do get your point, Kara. I just—I haven’t stopped thinking about those missing students since we saw the books. It’s so wrong. People shouldn’t just _disappear_. And I know it happened a long time ago, but I feel like it still matters….” The unease in his gut twisted and he suddenly found words. “If anyone is going to get me, I’d rather see them coming.”

Kara sighed. “Bram?”

Bramley left a long pause before finally shrugging and saying, “I’m no detective.”

“We can leave you guys out of it if you want,” said Malia. “But I’m going back to the library this week to copy names out of those books.”

“Fine. If I’m not gonna change your mind, let’s change the subject. All this conspiracy talk is bad for digestion.” Kara leaned back and pressed a hand against her stomach. “Ugh. Aren’t you a belly rub expert yet, Ives?”

“Not yet,” said Grayson with a small laugh. “I have my first lesson tomorrow.”

\- - -

“…Like this?” Grayson held up a bundle of mint sprigs.

Ryder glanced at his work. “Almost. But you’ve tied them too high up. Try to keep the leaves separated, so they’ll dry evenly on both sides.”

Grayson nodded and unfastened the knot, determined to get it right.

It was early afternoon and he was standing at a workbench in a back area that Ryder had called the “brewing room.” A massive pile of mint leaves sat in front of him, waiting to be assembled into bundles that could be hung up to dry.

Since coming to the Soothing Room that morning, Grayson had moved all the beanbags and crates off the work floor and swept it clean. He had gone into a cavernous storage closet with a checklist and walked between the towering shelves, counting boxes and sacks and jars. Now he was helping Ryder sort and prepare a shipment of fresh tonic ingredients.

Everything was going well enough. The work was simple and easy to pick up. His only misgiving was that so far, Ryder showed no signs of teaching him anything he was actually excited to learn.

“That’s more like it,” said Ryder as Grayson finished retying the bundle. “If you’ve got a handle on this, I’ll start cutting up the ginger. Just ask if you find yourself wondering anything.”

The question came out of Grayson’s mouth in a rush. “Ryder, um—do you think I’ll get to learn any actual soothing today?”

Ryder frowned sightly. It was a mild expression that somehow held deep disapproval. “You _are_ learning to soothe, Grayson,” he said severely. “Everything I’ve shown you today is an important part of keeping the Soothing Room in operation.”

“Right, of course, but—I mean the part that’s more, uh, directly related to casting spells?” Grayson had the feeling he was digging himself deeper, so he quickly explained, “I really want to learn how to help people. Like I’ve seen you do.”

“You’ll learn to work directly with mages learn in good time. There’s no rush.”

“Can’t I just learn some simple things?” Grayson persisted. “I have an essay due for Professor Trott and I want to write about soothing. But I don’t know if I’ll get a good grade if I just cover, you know, chores.”

“…I see. When is this essay due?”

“Next month.”

“Do you think you’ll have learned everything there is to know about soothing within a month, Grayson?”

“Er—no, of course not. But surely I could just write about the basics?”

There was a long moment in which Ryder regarded him silently. Grayson felt sweat break out on his palms. For a moment, he felt like he was back in one-room schoolhouse of his childhood, waiting for Mrs. Ellin to rap his knuckles with her ruler because he’d thoughtlessly talked back again.

Then Ryder smiled. “All right, Grayson, I suppose we have time for a brief lesson. See that chair over in the corner? Take a seat in it, please.”

The chair in question was big and old, with the sort of thick cushions you could really sink into. Grayson settled down, watching uncertainly as Ryder crossed the room and began preparing something. There was the sound of boiling water and metal clinking against dishware. When Ryder turned around, he was holding a big steaming bowl of creamy-looking oatmeal, which he presented to Grayson with the word, “Eat.”

Grayson accepted the bowl. It was so heavy that he had to rest it on his knees. The sweet smell made Grayson’s stomach growl. It was nearly lunchtime and he’d only had a single slice of bread for breakfast.

“Why am I eating this?” he asked as he popped a spoonful into his mouth. Oh, it was good—sweet and thick, dotted with flavorful flecks of dried berries.

“You’ll see.” Ryder turned back to the workbench and began slicing ginger roots into little coins. “Tell me when you’re finished.”

The first half of the bowl went down easily. But as Grayson’s stomach filled, the heavy richness started to get to him. “Ryder… am I supposed to eat the whole thing? I’m, uh—I’m pretty full now.”

“Keep going,” said Ryder without looking up. “I want you to finish.”

There was still so much left. Grayson wasn’t sure he could do it. But he blew out a slow breath, pressed a hand against the side of his stomach, and valiantly scooped up another bite.

“Few people realize that brewing tonic requires a spell,” Ryder said. “That porridge you’re eating is the filling. The amount I’ve given you is about half of what you’d need to consume to finish a single batch of tonic.”

“…Oh.”

“I’d say perhaps forty percent of my time is dedicated to tonic production,” Ryder went on. “It’s a lot of work. Ingredients must be prepared, measured, and boiled. The spell must be cast and the brew must be bottled. Not to mention all the associated record-keeping. In addition to meeting OSM’s needs, we also accept external orders from other institutions that employ di-mages. So I hope you like that porridge. You’re going to be eating a lot of it.”

Grayson opened his mouth to speak, but a soft burp slipped out instead. “ _Urp_ —ugh, sorry. It tastes good. It’s just— _urp_ —”

“Heavy? I know.” Ryder turned to look at him. “It sounds like you’re starting to struggle.”

“Yeah.” Grayson shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He swore the oats had expanded inside him; his stomach felt like a sack of cement. “I’m getting really stuffed.”

“Where do you feel it most?”

“Here.” Grayson put his hand just under his ribs, where an achy swell had started to form.

Ryder nodded. “That’s where your stomach is. Quite high in the abdomen. Can you feel the difference between the upper and lower parts of of your belly?”

“Um….” Grayson let his hand slide from the tight bulge down to the gentle curve below his navel. His belly was still swollen there, but softer, and the flesh was much less tender. “Yeah, I can. I guess the food hasn’t gotten down there yet?”

“Precisely. As a soother, much of your work will center around filling and settling stomachs. But sometimes, you’ll help a mage who’s been casting for several hours, who’s full deep into their guts. There are different techniques for that. By look and feel, you’ll have to identify where the fullness is and decide how to deal with it. Now, tell me about your pain.”

“My pain? Uh—it’s just a bellyache, I guess?”

“It’s never _just_ a bellyache. But most mages will say exactly that. It’s up to you to ease out the specifics.” Ryder raised an eyebrow expectantly. “So, does it feel like sharp pangs? A pulsing ache? Unsettled churning?”

“It just feels all sore and stretched out. Like a heavy balloon.”

“Rest your hand over your stomach, right at the top. Now try pressing with the side of your hand, in and up.”

“Oka— _urrrp!”_ Grayson was startled by the force of the burp. “Oof. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Do you feel better?”

“A little.”

“Keep eating, then.”

Grayson sighed heavily, feeling the tight ache in his stomach grow and ebb with the movement of his lungs, and picked up his spoon again.

“Helping work out belches is part of the job,” said Ryder. “So is settling hiccups, soothing cramps, quelling nausea… do you feel nauseous at all now, Grayson?”

“No.”

“Do you remember how you felt after you got sick during your exam?”

“Ugh.” Grayson shivered. There was no way he could forget the mixture of queasiness and shame. “Yes. Awful.”

“And what did you do? You came here to speak with me. Soothing isn’t all about physical pain. It’s not easy to make yourself as helpless as digestive magic requires. As a soother, you’ll work with people who are scared, sick, ashamed. You’ll have to touch people where they’re sore and vulnerable. You’ll have to help them through the mental barriers that limit stomach capacity every bit as much as the physical ones. It is imperative that you treat every person who enters this room with calm, steady, unpretentious compassion. That also takes training.” Ryder paused as Grayson’s stomach gurgled loudly. “How are you feeling?”

Grayson took the question as permission to abandon his spoon and press his hands against his sore belly. “Not so good.”

“Give me specifics.”

“Feels like my belly’s starting to churn.” Grayson inhaled sharply and hunched forward. “Oooh, and cramp too….”

“Your stomach is trying to shift its contents along and free up some space. But that disrupts the air you’ve swallowed, and air causes those sharp pains. Try patting on the sides of your belly, Grayson, just under the ribs. Gently, now.”

He did as he was told. A few tiny strained burps managed to find their way out, and he groaned because they were so deeply unsatisfying. It felt like each scrap of room he managed to clear was immediately filled by more grumbling pressure.

“Is it all right if I help you?” Ryder came over and, when Grayson nodded, put a hand against his belly. “It takes practice to get good at this. Eventually you’ll learn to feel the swollen places and work out the pockets of air.”

Grayson tried not to squirm as Ryder began rubbing over his stomach. It felt so awkward at first. But then Ryder found a tender spot and gave it a press, and the enormous relief Grayson felt as the gas bubble forced its way up his throat convinced him not to care.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to understand the patterns in what was being done to him. The tight places got gentle pressure to help him burp. The grumbling places got patted until they coalesced into bubbles that could be pressed out. The cramping places got firmly massaged until the muscles were convinced to relax. Grayson tried to stay focused, but he could feel himself sinking deeper into a calm stupor….

He’d nearly fallen asleep when he heard Ryder’s voice ask, “Better?” and realized that the touching had stopped.

“Better, yeah.” He opened his eyes to see Ryder standing in front of him, holding the oatmeal bowl, and felt a little pang of apprehension. “But… I really hope you’re not going to tell me to keep eating again.”

Ryder shook his head. “I could keep convincing you to eat until your stomach reached its physical maximum. I’m not going to do that to you—but I _could_. You wouldn’t feel very well after that. It would be very intense. But sometimes, that’s the only way a spell gets cast.” He crossed the room to put the bowl in the sink. “As a soother, your job is to take people to those extremes and to help them come back down afterwards. Each person who walks through this door has a different gut and a different heart, and therefore, different needs. What do you think, Grayson? Could you summarize the basics? Could you do this topic justice in a first-year essay?"

“Er. No.” Grayson cleared his throat sheepishly. “I get your point. Sorry, Ryder.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I can see you’re not going to simply accept the things I say.” Ryder smiled slightly. “That makes my job harder, but in the end, it will make you a good soother. Now, you’d better get back to that mint. I want it all bunched and hung up to dry by the time you leave this afternoon.”

Grayson hauled himself to his feet, groaning and bracing a hand against his belly as its contents sloshed. “Ryder, can I—ugh—can I ask one more question?”

“Certainly.”

“What would you recommend I write my essay about, then? I could pick any random topic myself, but I want to choose something that will help me with this work.”

Ryder seemed pleased by that. “Oh, I can think of many relevant subjects! In fact, I have books you can borrow. You can take a look at them before you leave today and choose one that piques your interest.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

Silence fell as they got back to work, broken only by the steady _slice-slice_ of Ryder’s knife and the low grumbles of strained digestion from Grayson’s belly.

Suddenly, the sound of Ryder’s work stopped. Grayson heard what had given him pause—footsteps approaching down the hallway. Moments later, a bald figure with a neat mustache appeared in the doorframe. Light glinted off the bronze badge pinned to his jacket.

“Agent Smythe?” Ryder sounded startled.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kline.” The agent stepped into the room, smiling pleasantly. “I have some brief matters to discuss with you, if you can spare a moment.”

“Of course. But this isn’t typically where I conduct meetings.” Ryder’s voice was unfailingly polite, but still held a subtle edge as he added, “I believe there was a bell on my desk in the case that you wanted to speak with me.”

“Indeed there was, but I didn’t wish to disrupt your work. And besides, I haven’t had the chance to examine this place yet. It seems like a very nice operation.” Agent Smythe’s eyes roved around the room before landing on Grayson. “This must be the young man you snatched up as your apprentice! Grayson Ives, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Grayson half-raised a hand, but when the agent didn’t move to shake it, he let it drop lamely back to his side.

“I’ve spoken at length with the Headmistress about you. My colleagues back in Kingswood won’t be happy to hear that a prospective young mage was taken out of the employment pool without RAMA’s input! However, as your Headmistress accurately pointed out to me, it _is_ her school and you students are entrusted to her until graduation.” Agent Smythe leaned over Grayson’s work, as though inspecting the carefully-tied bundles. “It seems you’re settling in well. Please, carry on—pretend I’m not here.”

Nervously, Grayson bent his head and gathered a new handful of mint.

“What can I help you with, Agent?” asked Ryder smoothly. “Would you like me to show you around?”

“Some other time, perhaps. I’m here on specific business today. I’d like you to tell me everything you can about an incident that occurred last June involving the student Elliott Vale.”

Grayson fingers slipped on the knot he was tying.

“I’m not sure what there is to say,” said Ryder after a pause. “It was a textbook case of magical reflux. The student was attempting a difficult spell and lost control, and the magic became trapped inside the mage. I didn’t witness this occurring, you understand. He was not in the Soothing Room at the time.”

“So I’ve heard. However, it was you who treated him, was it not? It was you who saved his life?”

“I responded to the situation, yes. I also oversaw his recovery.”

“RAMA believes this incident was quite extraordinary. Any information you can provide regarding its immediate and long-term aftermath would be very helpful to us.”

“I see.” Ryder left another pause. “Do you have a warrant? Or a royal decree?”

“A royal decree?” Agent Smythe sounded bemused.

“In cases like this, my recollections constitute medical records, Agent. I’m obligated to keep them private except in extraordinary circumstances. Unfortunately, it would violate my ethical responsibilities to share these details with you now.”

“I do have permission from the Headmistress to ask this of you, understand.”

“With all due respect to both of you, disclosing details on her orders would still be a breach of ethics.”

“Surely she can request her own son’s—”

“Elliott is an adult. He has a right to control his own records.” Ryder paused. “I would be most comfortable if we spoke about this with him in the room, but if that’s not possible, a note of permission with his signature would suffice.”

“I see.” The agent did not sound pleased. “Your strength of character is admirable, Mr. Kline. Obstructive, yet admirable. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I’ve been told you are in possession of the text Mr. Vale used to cast the fateful spell? Would it violate your ethical responsibilites to lend it to me?”

“I’ll fetch it right away,” said Ryder. “Oh—and let me get you the tabulation of RAMA’s tonic orders while I’m at my desk. I’ve been meaning to pass it on for some time.”

“Very helpful, thank you.”

Ryder left. Agent Smythe remained. Grayson could feel his presence filled the room like a smoky fire, oppressive and burningly uncomfortable. Even worse, Grayson’s stomach was still grumbling, easily audible in the silent room.

“It sounds like you’ve been working hard,” remarked Agent Smythe after a particularly loud gurgle.

“Um—yes.” Grayson tried to hide his mortification with a laugh. “Busy morning.”

“Do you like being a di-mage, Mr. Ives?”

“I like it a lot better since becoming Ryder’s apprentice, sir.” Grayson figured now was the time to put in a good word for that decision. “This work suits me. I was never gonna be a very good mage, but here, I can be useful.”

“Humbly said.” Agent Smythe’s voice turned warm. “You know, I’m always happy to visit OSM. It’s is never quite the same, but some things stay familiar.”

“Did you study here?” Grayson asked. “Are you a di-mage too?”

The agent laughed. “No, I’m not a mage.”

“…Oh.” The way he said it made Grayson feel foolish, like he should’ve expected as much. “Sorry, I just thought—”

“That RAMA would be staffed by mages? A common misconcept—ah, Mr. Kline! Thank you.”

With a guarded smile, Ryder handed Agent Smythe a thin stack of papers and what looked like a old leather journal. “There you go, Agent. I hope you find the answers you seek.”

“So do I.” Agent Smythe tucked the documents under his arm with a smile. “I expect I’ll be speaking with you again soon, Ryder, but for now, I’ll leave you to your work.”

“I anticipate to our future conversations, Agent. Good afternoon.”

Grayson hoped that Ryder would offer some explanation once they were alone. But he only picked up his knife and quietly returned to slicing ginger.

“What was all that about?” Grayson couldn’t help asking once he was sure the agent was gone.

Ryder laughed lightly. “Politics,” he said. “Another aspect of our profession, unfortunately.”

“Why did he want to know about E—?”

“I don’t think you should trouble yourself over what just happened, Grayson,” Ryder said, and from the tone of his voice, Grayson recognized that it was an expectation rather than a suggestion. He shut his mouth and gathered up another handful of mint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long wait on this chapter! Now that summer is here, I hope I can get back to updating more regularly again.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any comments you leave will be treasured and adored. 
> 
> I think this is the last time I'm gonna link to [my tumblr](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/) in the notes, because if you don't know where it is by now, you probably don't want to. But I'm always happy to hear from you over there too!


	10. Kara's Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliott pets a cat. Malia encounters a setback. Grayson has a bad day, so Kara cooks him dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Grayson gets really eating disorder-y in this chapter, more so than he’s been in previous chapters, so please read with discretion!
> 
> As always, thank you to [chubinecco](https://chubinecco.tumblr.com/) for being a top-notch beta.

Despite what Ryder had said, Grayson couldn’t help troubling himself. He was still thinking about Agent Smythe’s inquiry two days later, as he lugged his heavy bag up the narrow stairwell to his second-ever tutoring session.

It had probably been nothing. Routine, even. An accident had occurred at the school—of course the authorities would want to investigate. Grayson’s nerves were just playing tricks on him. Ever since Malia had discovered those yearbooks, he’d been jumpy, glancing into every shadow as though ghosts were going to melt out of the walls.

Still… the whole thing just didn’t _feel_ right. Agent Smythe’s half-threats, Ryder’s insistence that he not ask questions… and something about Elliott had always put a weird feeling in Grayson’s gut. He wondered if Elliott knew that RAMA was asking questions about him, or if he was as ignorant as a mouse in the shadow of a plunging owl—

—Something brushed past Grayson’s leg, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. He glanced down in time to see a gray cat dart down the hallway and vanish through the open door at the end.

It was the classroom where his tutorial was to be held. Heart still racing, Grayson went to the threshold and peered in.

Elliott was already there, standing with his back to the door as he arranged dishes on the table. The gray cat padded up to him and pressed itself against his leg with an inviting meow.

Grayson fully expected that it would get solid kick. But instead, Elliott crouched down and put out a hand. The cat rubbed its chin against his fingers, purring, and Elliott’s expression warmed into something like a smile.

“Wow,” said Grayson without thinking.

Elliott’s head snapped up. He straightened immediately, sending the cat darting away. “What?”

“You can actually” —Grayson managed to stop his tongue from saying the words _be nice_ at the last second— “um, you like cats?”

“Cats don’t say stupid things. Come in and sit down.”

Grayson crossed the room and set his heavy bag on the table. “I brought my own filling for the cloaking spell, like you asked.”

“Leave it for now. We’re going to start with something new.”

“New? But I haven’t—”

“Page twelve in your textbook.”

Grayson sighed. He didn’t suppose it would do any good to complain about dragging that bag up five flights of stairs for nothing, so he got out his book and scanned the page. “…An intangibility spell?”

“Yes. What do you notice about the filling?”

“Uh—it’s almost the same as the cloaking spell, isn’t it?”

Elliott nodded. “Fresh first and sweet last, but with salty in the middle instead of savory.” He gestured to the array of dishes. “I brought a selection of possible ingredients, which I’ll have you choose your filling from. But first, a demonstration.” He pulled a plate toward himself and began consuming its contents with practiced speed.

Grayson frowned as he looked at Elliott’s filling: a pile of chocolate-covered strawberries, some pretzels coated in just as much powdered sugar as salt, and a heavily-frosted cupcake. “Hang on—those are all sweet foods, aren’t they?”

“A strawberry is still a fruit, Ives, chocolate-covered or not.”

“But don’t you feel sick after eating so much sugary stuff?”

“If it made me sick, do you think I’d structure the filling that way? You’re free to cater to your personal tastes and sensitivities. The ingredient classes are not terribly strict, and it’s easier to get filling down if you enjoy what you’re eating.”

“So what you’re saying is, you have a sweet tooth.”

Elliott gave him a withering look. The effect was somewhat nullified by the smudge of frosting on his cheek. “What I’m saying is that you’re free to choose—”

“I wouldn’t have pegged for you for a dessert guy.”

“Do you really find my ingredient preferences so interesting?” Elliott snapped.

“I’m just trying to be friendly, all right?” Grayson sighed and leaned on his elbow. “If we have to spend all this time together, it would be nice to know more about you other than _grrr, I’m the Headmistress’s son and I’m extremely grumpy all the time_. The way you talk, it’s like listening to a magic textbook read itself aloud.”

“Yes, well, I’m here to teach you, not to make friends.”

“Do you actually _have_ any friends?”

“Now it’s my personal life you’re interested in?”

Grayson threw up his hands. “Ugh, I only mean to say that it doesn’t have to be this damn contentious, all the time! But if that’s the way you want it, fine. You’re in charge!”

“I’m glad we’ve finally established that,” said Elliott frostily. “Now then—close your book.”

Grayson reached for the book. But rather than touching paper, his fingers swept straight through the pages and hit the table below. “What the—?!”

“Intangibility,” said Elliott simply.

“Holy shit.” Grayson withdrew his hand and tentatively moved it back into the book. The intangible space felt icy cold, but otherwise there was no sensation. “That’s insane! It’s like touching empty— _ow!_ ”

His eyes filled with water—it felt like his fingers had been pinched extremely hard. He blinked his vision clear to see that his hand was resting on top of the now-solid pages of his book.

“Being inside an intangible object when the spell drops won’t slice through your body, like some excitable first-years imagine,” said Elliott as he reached for a big ceramic jug. “But it does hurt.”

“I wish you could’ve just _told_ me that!” said Grayson indignantly. His fingers were red and swollen, and he could see the dark blush of bruising starting to form.

“You won’t forget now, will you?” Elliott raised the jug to his lips and poured its contents down his throat in a series of quick gulps. Then he reached over and touched Grayson’s fingers. The pain stopped immediately.

“Was that—was that a _healing_ spell?” Grayson examined his hand. It looked and felt completely normal, aside from a slight tingle where Elliott had touched him.

“Yes. You’ll learn that one later.” Elliott leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Your turn. Show me what you can do.”

\- - -

Grayson could do a decent amount, as it turned out. After a few failed attempts and filling adjustments, he managed to make his textbook buzz strangely against his hand. He pulled off the cloaking spell too, despite the oppressive fullness of his stomach, and he left tutoring that afternoon feeling a little uncomfortable but very proud of himself.

He was lounging on the couch in the common room with a mug of tea and the book he’d borrowed from Ryder when he heard the sound of the door opening and quickly slamming shut again. He glanced up to see Malia standing with her back pressed against it, face pale.

“Malia? What’s wr—?”

“I need to talk to you, Ives.”

“Okay. It’s just me here right now, so….” Grayson closed his book and forced himself to sit up straight. The way Malia glanced back at the door as she came over to the couch made his spine prickle. “Uh—is everything okay?”

“Fine, it’s just—I was at the library.” Malia sat down next to him. “I was going to copy all the names out of those yearbooks. But when I went to the shelf—they were gone.”

“Gone? Like _really_ gone? Did you—did you try touching the space where they were? Because if it felt cold, maybe someone just made them intangible.”

Malia looked at him blankly before saying, “I poked around the whole area. Nothing was strange, except for the fact that the books weren’t there.”

“Shit. You think someone knows we’ve seen them?”

“I have no clue, Ives. That was my first thought, but—how could they? Nobody saw us going in and out of that room, I was careful. We’ve only ever talked about it in here—or out in the garden, but there was nobody else to overhear us, was there?”

“No.” Grayson chewed his lip. “But who knows? This place is full of mages, isn’t it? For all we know, someone could’ve been—someone could be standing behind us right this second, invisible!”

There was a moment of horrified silence before Grayson added, “I mean, probably not though.”

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” said Malia. “Those books were probably due to be moved anyway. All I know is, I’m even more determined to figure out what’s going on here now.”

“How’re you going to do it without the names?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’m sure I’ll think of something.” She stood up. “Sorry for freaking you out, Ives. Just wanted to let you know. We should watch our backs for the next few days.

\- - -

Grayson didn’t sleep very well that night. He didn’t sleep very well the next night either. But as the days wore on and nothing happened, his worries faded. By the next week, he’d concluded that Malia was right, and the timing of the books’ disappearance had just been a coincidence.

Life at OSM settled into a comfortable routine. On Mondays and Wednesdays, Grayson went to class and tried not to doze while Professor Trott prattled on about half-formed histories and incomprehensible theories. In the afternoons, he sat with his friends in the library or the common room and studied.

The book he’d chosen from Ryder’s collection was about the five schools of magic and their roles in Zlottish society. He’d picked it because it had sounded the least dull, but he found himself actually getting interested in the topic. It made him feel like a kid again—dreaming of far-flung places as he read about the seaside citadel of the song-mages, or the grand spellshops where scribe-mages traced sigils onto scraps of paper for waiting clients, or the factories in the eastern wastes where sign-mages were taught to assemble complex machinery with a few passes of the hand.

Work in the Soothing Room got steadily more interesting too. Grayson still spent a lot of time cleaning and sorting, but sometimes, when a mage came in seeking help with a spell, Ryder would summon Grayson and instruct him to observe.

Sometimes the visitor was one of OSM’s researchers, but more often it was one of the third-years. Grayson hadn’t realized how much they depended on Ryder. Tim and Allison swung by in the afternoons to get tonic. Sara came seeking advice on a spell that kept giving her indigestion. Ina seemed to be there every other day, reclining on one of the beanbags to cast. Only Elliott was conspicuously absent.

But Grayson saw more than enough of Elliott as it was. Every Thursday, he climbed the steps up to the old classroom where they worked and grit his teeth as Elliott mocked and berated and taunted him until he got things right.

It was frustrating as hell, but he couldn’t deny that it was working. Soon cloaking spells were easy, and only Kara mastered intangibility before he did. In one month, Elliott had not only gotten Grayson caught up, but turned him into one of the stronger students in his class.

Of course, eventually he had to hit a wall.

“I can’t,” he groaned as Elliott glared. “It’s just not working.”

Grayson hadn’t expected combining spells to be so difficult. He’d gotten pretty good at alternating them. A couple weeks previously, Elliott had taught him the principle of “layering,” which meant that one ingredient could function as filling for multiple spell, as long as the sequence of each spell was not disturbed. In short, he could eat one fresh ingredient, followedby savory and salty middle ingredients, and finally one sweet ingredient—and on that bellyful of food, he could cloak objects or make them intangible as he wanted.

The problem now was that casting both spells simultaneously required a lot more filling, and his stomach was not happy about that. He felt it shift uneasily inside him as Elliott said, “You need more filling. Repeat the sequence again.”

“Ugh, I don’t know if I can.”

“Well, if you can’t cast with what you’ve got and you can’t eat more, then there’s not much you can do, is there? You need to improve your capacity.”

“I’ve been trying….” That was a bit of a lie. It had been awhile since Grayson had really pushed his limits outside of tutoring hours.

“Not hard enough, obviously! Unless you want to be stuck casting baby spells for the rest of your life, you—”

“Look, it’s not my fault!” Grayson broke in angrily. “I have a stupidly small stomach, all right? I can’t always do things as easily as you think I should!”

Elliott gave him a long, unimpressed look. Grayson glared defiantly back.

Finally Elliott sighed. “Tell me, Ives, what was it you did before this?”

“I was a hunter.”

“I see. And when you were hunter, did you also have this same incredible propensity for whining? Did you traipse through the forest, lamenting your fate, until the animals felt sorry for you and stuck their legs into your traps?”

“I didn’t trap animals. I shot them. With bullets.” Grayson tried not to imagine how nice it would be to shoot Elliott with a bullet. “A hunter hunts. A _trapper_ traps.”

“Thank you for that idiotic diversion.”

“Seemed like a fair trade for the pointless insult.” Grayson scrubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. “Am I actually going to learn anything today, or are you just gonna spend the hour finding new ways to taunt me?”

Elliott’s expression grew even darker. “Do you think I _like_ sitting here and listening to you moan? I don’t enjoy this any more than you do, Ives!”

“Yeah? Why’d you agree to do it, then?”

“You seem to be under the impression I was given a chance to refuse.”

“Can’t say no to dear old mum, huh? Not after she’s taken such a personal interest in your education?”

“We all try not to disappoint our mothers, Ives. Or perhaps you’ve disappointed yours so often that you’ve forgotten.”

Whatever Grayson had been going to say turned to stone in his throat. He coughed away the lump and glanced at Elliott, fully expecting him to dig his claws into the wound he’d struck and wrench it open, but his gaze had dropped.

The anger in the room broke. Suddenly, it was just two slightly miserable young men staring down at a table full of half-empty dishes.

Elliott blinked first. “Just… cast the fucking spell, all right?”

And Grayson did. It even worked.

\- - -

Grayson felt so drained afterwards that he went straight to bed. He slept like a stone all the through the night and woke up so early that the light of dawn was barely seeping up over the mountains.

It wasn’t unusual for him to skip dinner on the days he had tutoring, but his classmates were used to seeing him around the common room in the evenings. He found a note on the kitchen table, tea-stained and in Kara’s handwriting:

> GRAYSON
> 
> ARE YOU ALIVE?
> 
> YES
> 
> NO

He circled the “No” option and put it back where his classmates would see it. Then he opened the cupboard, stared apathetically at the different breakfast options, and decided to go out for a morning run before eating.

October was drawing to a close. Splashes of bright yellow birch and deep orange oak broke the rich greens of the conifer-dominated hillsides. Grayson’s breath fogged before him as he started down the path into the pre-dawn forest at a comfortable trot.

He did a couple slow laps of Sara’s trail, enjoying the scent of the frost-covered pines and the tear of the cool, wet air in his lungs. By the last one, he’d gotten a bit shaky, and thought to himself that he should probably go in and have some breakfast. But he didn’t really feel like it, so instead he sat on a stone outcropping high up the hillside and watched the sun rise over the valley.

He returned to school just in time to report to the Soothing Room. They were having what Ryder called a “maintenance day,” and he was put to work in the back room, sorting a massive shipment of tonic ingredients. It was a boring task, but Grayson didn’t mind. He’d started to feel a little cloudy as soon as he’d left the fresh air. Plus, it was better that nobody could hear the quiet grumbling of his stomach.

He worked right through his lunch break and was finished by the early afternoon. When he went to Ryder for a new task, Ryder took one look at him and said, “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Grayson rubbed a hand through his hair. “Why? Do I look bad?”

“You look exhausted.”

“Oh. I woke up really early this morning. Guess that’s why.”

Ryder glanced back down at his inventory sheets. “Well, why don’t you go take a nap?”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“There’s not much you can do to make paperwork go faster anyway. Take the afternoon for yourself.”

Grayson wasn’t going to argue, even though he was sure he didn’t need a nap. He returned to the apartment and parked himself on a sofa in the common room to read through the chapter of _Spell Theory_ he’d neglected to finish the other day. The next thing he knew, Kara shaking him awake and telling him to come to dinner.

“M’busy,” he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Got reading to do.”

“Yeah, looks like you’re studying hard,” said Kara dryly. “Come on, it’s almost six. Bram and Mal went out with the third-years, and I don’t want to eat alone.”

Grayson reluctantly let her prod him off the couch and down to the dining hall. Maybe the smell of food would whet his appetite.

It didn’t. He sat at the table with a glass of water, feeling sick and sweaty. His mouth was watering and his stomach was growling painfully, but he just couldn’t stand the thought of food.

Kara watched him with concern. “Come on, kid, you have to eat.”

Grayson groaned and put his head down on his arms.

“You skipped dinner last night too. Are you ill?”

“I’m fine. I’m just not hungry.”

“Don’t be stupid, I can hear your belly growling like crazy! When was the last time you ate?”

Grayson left a long pause before admitting, “At tutoring yesterday.”

“Tutoring?” Kara gave him a look. “Tutoring doesn’t count, you burn off everything you eat when you cast! When did you last have a _meal?”_

“Uh… yesterday at breakfast.”

“Creator’s blood, Grayson! Why haven’t you eaten?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I _am_ ill. I guess I’m not feeling too good.”

“Thirty-six hours without food would make anyone feel lousy.” Kara pushed her plate over to him. “Take some.”

“I really don’t want to, Kara.”

“Come on, Ives.”

He nudged the plate away. “No.”

“You _have_ to eat, you—”

“I really _don’t_ have to!” he burst out. “I don’t have to eat just because you think I should, all right? Everyone’s got so many damn opinions about what I eat and I’m sick of it! My parents would sneer at me for being a glutton—Elliott makes me eat until my stomach hurts and then yells at me because it’s not good enough—everyone else is always laughing at my stupid tiny appetite like I’m some kind of sad joke! No matter what I do, I’m either disgusting because I’m eating too much or I’m pathetic because I can’t eat enough! I’m sick of feeling guilty, sick of feeling like a failure—and I just don’t want to fucking bother anymore, all right?!”

The silence afterwards rang. Grayson felt his cheeks burning. He stared down at the table, unable to meet Kara’s eyes.

“Ives,” she said gently, “I don’t care how _much_ you eat as long as it’s enough for your body to, you know, continue to physically function.”

The fire in his cheeks flared even brighter.

“I’m sorry for every time I’ve laughed at you,” Kara went on. “I didn’t realize it was making you feel so bad.”

He cleared his throat. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It _is,_ clearly. So let me give you the apology I owe you.” She craned her neck to make eye contact with him. “I’m honestly sorry for all the shitty jokes. There’s nothing wrong with how you eat. Nothing that’s gonna prevent you from being a good mage.”

“Not—Not according to Elliott.”

“Elliott is a self-important asshole and you shouldn’t base your opinion of yourself on what he thinks. Same goes for your parents, from what you’ve told me.” Kara put a hand on his shoulder. “What really matters is that you’re gonna make yourself ill like this. Listen to your poor stomach, kid. That’s got to hurt.”

It _did_ hurt. His stomach was so empty—clenching and gnawing inside him, crying for something to digest.

“Come on. I know you like potatoes.” She scooped a pile of mashed potatoes off her plate and into an empty bowl.

Grayson felt his mouth fill with water. “Ugh. Yeah.”

“Just have a little. Please?”

Grayson managed half the bowl before his poor spirits snagged away his appetite again. He hunched over the table, crossing his arms against his churning stomach. “Kara, I honestly don’t feel good.”

“That’s okay. Don’t push it. I’m just glad you’ve got a little sustenance in you.” Kara stood up and offered him a hand. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. I’ll make you some tea.”

They sat quietly by the fireplace for awhile with mugs and their schoolbooks. Grayson felt too listless to read. The words kept swimming around on the page, and eventually he said, “I’m going to bed.”

“All right.” Kara closed her book and set it on her lap. “Hey, will you let me do something for you, Ives?”

“Uh—depends what it is.”

“Will you let me cook you dinner tomorrow?”

Grayson had not been expecting that. “What? Why?”

“Because… I want to make you kind of food _I_ had growing up. The kind of warm, rich stuff that nourishes your soul and waters your roots. I want to make it for you and let you eat it, with nobody telling you to stuff yourself and nobody telling you to stop.”

“Oh, uh….” Grayson felt himself blushing again. “Look, that’s sweet, but you really shouldn’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worried, I’m….” Kara paused, like she was searching for the right word. “I’m _sad_ for you, I guess. Food isn’t supposed to hurt you, Ives! It’s supposed to be a source of pleasure, not part of your self-worth. It kills me to think the kind of atmosphere we have around here is getting that all twisted up. I really want to do this for you, if you’ll let me.”

“Um. If you really…. I mean, I guess it’s fine.”

“Fantastic.” Kara beamed. “Thanks, Ives! It’ll be great, I promise. Now go get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

\- - -

Kara was already in the kitchen when Grayson came down for breakfast. She was cheerfully kneading a ball of dough, flour dusted down her front. A pot was already bubbling away on the stove.

“Creator’s blood,” said Grayson, dismayed. “I didn’t know you were gonna go to this much trouble….”

“Trouble? Are you kidding?” Kara grinned as she covered the dough with a dish towel. “I’ve been dying to cook for someone since I got here, _of course_ I’m going all out! Oh, and I made some traditional Sumorian sweet-buns last night. Try them with apricot jam, that’s the best way.”

The basket of buns was sitting on the table, where Malia and Bramley had already started in on it. Grayson joined them, picking out the smallest one for himself. He was properly hungry now, but his stomach still felt sensitive.

“Are you two taking part in this?” he asked as he reached for the jam jar.

Bramley shook his head. “Big frontball game in town tonight. I’m going to watch.”

“And I’m going with him,” said Malia. She saw the look on Grayson’s face and smirked. “What? Bramley can explain the rules to me. Anyway, I’m getting culturally deprived out here in the sticks. It’ll be nice to partake in some of the local lifestyle.”

She said it with smooth conviction, but Grayson still had a feeling that Kara had something to do with it. He silently wished that all of this could stop being such a big deal.

“I’m also planning to stop by the city library,” said Malia, lowering her voice a little. “They’ve got an archive of old newspapers there. We may not have names, but we still know a year, right? If anything interesting happened, maybe we can dig it up.”

“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Grayson dipped his knife into the pot of jam. “Just… be careful.”

“I always am, Ives. Don’t worry about me.” Malia tipped her head over to where Kara was shaking the contents of a spice jar into the bubbling pot. “I’d be more worried about yourself. That girl looks like she has _plans_ for you.”

\- - -

It was so much food.

Grayson had spent the whole afternoon up his study. He’d had no idea the scope of Kara’s meal until she’d called him and he’d come downstairs to see the kitchen table crowded with dishes.

His stomach tightened nervously as he sat down. “This is seriously just for the two of us?”

“Relax, Ives, I don’t expect us to finish it all,” said Kara. “I wanted leftovers. Some of these dishes are even better on the second day. Here, start with this. It’s simple chicken soup.”

So it was, but it was unlike any chicken soup Grayson had ever tasted before. The rich broth swam with spice and glistened with oil, and the chicken was so soft it fell off the bone at the poke of a spoon. The first bite chased away his apprehension—he ate eagerly, lining his belly with nourishing, bracing warmth.

“That’s _really_ good, Kara!” he said as his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. “What’s in it?”

“Besides the chicken? Onion, carrot, ginger, chili… but the real secret is simmering it for ages, so the meat almost melts into the broth.” Kara passed him a plate piled high with squares of soft, spongy bread. “Mop up the juices with one of these bad boys. It’s not a proper Sumorian dinner unless you go through a whole basket. Oh, and try some fish while it’s hot! That’s usually a spring dish, ‘cause spring is when the rivers run back home, but that’s not a problem here in Oppendorff. Get the cheek, that’s the best part.”

There was so much to try. There was yellow cornbread with crumbly cheese baked right in. There was rice cooked with saffron and peanuts and dried fruit. There were sausages in sweet glaze—fish that had been fried until the skin was black and crispy—thin savory pancakes filled with chopped onion. It was all warm and hearty and so, so good.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Kara asked with a grin as Grayson mopped the dregs from his plate with another square of bread.

“Creator, they’re all amazing! But… I _love_ those.” Grayson pointed to the onion pancakes. “Reminds me of something my mom used to make. Those were simper though, just flour and water and fat.”

Kara pushed the pancakes his way. “You want more? There’s plenty.”

“What the hell—sure.” Grayson slid a couple onto his plate. “Is there more soup? I’d love some of that. And maybe a few more of those sausages, too. Thanks.” After a moment of thought, he took a small scoop of rice and couple forkfuls of fish as well. “It’s all just so good! Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“From my mom and dad, of course. And my grandmothers. And my great aunt. Oh, and my uncle, who owns a restaurant. My whole family is pretty into food. You wouldn’t believe the dinners we have when we all get together.”

“Sounds like a good family to grow up in for a di-mage,” said Grayson, a little jealously.

“A good culture, maybe. Food is a big deal in Sumoria. It connects us to our roots. This is the same food my great-grandmother made, and her great-grandmother before her, and my great-grandchildren are gonna know how to make it too. When I eat this stuff, I know who I am. Don’t you have something like that?”

Grayson shrugged. “I know a dozen ways to cook deer innards. Only like, two of them are any good, though.”

“You’ll have to teach me, if we ever get on hands on a deer,” said Kara with a laugh.

As he approached a clean plate for the second time, Grayson could feel his belly growing heavy. Some animal part of him didn’t care at all. The food was _so_ good, and there was _so_ much of it, that he felt he could keep eating until he burst. Another part of him was cringing at the weight in his guts—scolding him, accusing him of greed and gluttony, telling him he’d already had more than enough….

Kara seemed to notice. “Getting full?” she asked.

Grayson nodded wordlessly.

“You can stop, if you want. There’s no shame in that. No shame in continuing to eat, either. Just feel yourself out, Ives. Listen to your stomach and your heart and decide what to do.”

“…Okay.” Grayson stared down at his plate, uncertain. His eyes landed the remaining scraps of sausage. Water gathered in his mouth.

“I want to finish this, at least,” he said, poking it with his fork. “It’s so good.”

He polished off the sausage—and then couldn’t resist grabbing another square of bread to soak up the glaze—and then the mound of rice on the edge of his plate caught his eye. He managed a few bites before the pressure in his belly began to take the pleasure out of the taste.

He laid down his fork and rested both hands on his stomach, sighing. “Mmm, I’m really full now…. I don’t think I can eat any more and enjoy it. But….”

“But what? If you’re full, then you should stop.”

“I just hate wasting food. I should finish the plate at least.”

“Not if it means overstuffing yourself.” Kara reached across the table and snatched his plate away. “I’ll take care of it, I’ve got room. Why don’t you go sit on the couch? Relax and digest a bit before you decide if you want dessert.”

Grayson yawned as he stood up. It was only a few paces to the couch, but the walk took all the energy out of him, and he felt like a stone as he sank down against the cushions. He put a hand on his belly, feeling how firm it was and yet how flat.

He’d eaten too much for a hunter and not enough for a di-mage. But those thoughts were fading away in a warm tide of relaxation. His stomach ached just a little, but it was a strangely pleasant sort of pain, like stretching a stiff muscle. The heaviness of his meal was slowly permeating his whole body, pressing away his worries and whispering promises of a long, deep sleep.

“It _does_ feel good,” he said as Kara came over. “Being this full.”

“Doesn’t it?” She settled on the sofa with a contented sigh. “Budge over, would you? Think I need to lie down after all that.”

Grayson groaned. His belly quivered at the thought of moving, even a little. “Nooo. Just lie on my lap.”

“On your lap? I’ll break your little stick legs!” But she did anyway, wincing slightly as she settled against him. “Oof….”

One of Grayson’s hands found her hair and the other naturally came to rest on her belly. Even though he’d seen how much she’d eaten, its solid roundness took him aback. “Wow. Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah… I feel _fantastic_. I haven’t eaten like that since leaving home.” She hiccupped suddenly as her stomach grumbled under Grayson’s fingers. “Ugh, I might’ve overdone it a bit. Worth it, though.”

“You want a belly rub? I’m almost kind of a professional.”

“Mmm, I sure wouldn’t complain.” She closed her eyes—then burst out laughing as he began to pat at the side of her belly. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s—it’s something Ryder taught me! It’s supposed to help you burp!”

“I don’t need to burp, Ives, I’m just full.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged his hand in gentle circles. “There. Like that. No need to get all Soothing Room on me.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Grayson let his eyes drift shut. It felt good—the warm weight of another person pressed against him. He’d forgotten how nice it was to have that.

Kara seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Maybe it’s weird,” she said, “but this reminds me so much of evenings with my last girlfriend.”

Grayson laughed. “Oh shit, don’t tell me we’re gonna turn straight for each other.”

She reached up to swat the side of his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I just mean that this was always my favorite part of being in a relationship. Cooking for someone. Enjoying good food and cuddling after.”

“Did you cook for her often? Your ex-girlfriend, I mean.”

“Mmhmm. It was kind of a… _thing_ we had. I like to eat. She liked to eat. So sometimes we’d just, you know, feed each other a ton of food and then collapse like this on a couch… or a bed….” She sighed heavily. “Damn, it was so good, Ives. That girl was such a firecracker, so full of life and energy…. Of course, she also turned out be cheating asshole, so….”

Grayson’s mouth dropped open. “How could anyone cheat on _you?!”_

“Well… she got bored. At least, that’s what she told me.”

“Bored!” The sadness in Kara’s voice only stoked Grayson’s indignation. “That’s such bullshit. You’re a hell of catch, Kara! You’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met! Plus you’re funny, you’re smart, you can bake and cook… I swear, if I were into girls, I’d be all over you. Your ex must be an idiot.”

That made Kara chuckle. “Where were you when this breakup happened, huh, Ives?” Her voice dropped back into dejection. “But I should’ve seen it coming, honestly.”

“What? How?”

“I mean, she was that type of girl. Confident and willful. Used to getting what she wanted. Insatiable. A lot like Malia, actually.” Kara’s lips twisted into a half-smile. “You ever feel like you have a type and it kinda just screws you over?”

“Uh….” Grayson hadn’t exactly had his pick of available guys back in the Blue Hills. He’d met a few others—boys from surrounding villages, a discreet network of whispered names, secret introductions, and casual trysts. But Ben had always been there, close and friendly and comfortable. “I dunno. I guess I like sweet guys the best, so….”

“Maybe you can help me find a sweet girl, then.” She prodded the back of his hand. “Can you do that? Find me a sweet Westridgian girl who likes Sumorian food. And then I’ll take her back to Ayaladi and we’ll get married and adopt a couple kids and a big old dog. And I’ll open a cafe down the street from my uncle’s and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

Grayson squeezed her fingers. “You don’t really wanna be here, do you?”

“That obvious, huh?” Kara sighed wistfully. “Don’t get me wrong, I love you and Mal and Bram. I’m glad I met you guys. But I don’t really give a damn about power and magic and RAMA and all their political shit. All I ever wanted is back home.”

“Maybe you’ll get an assignment there,” Grayson suggested. “And maybe one of your colleagues will be the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Also a di-mage. Also likes to cook. And you’ll invite her over for dinner and she’ll take one bite of your chicken soup and fall hopelessly in love.”

“Ha! Now _that’s_ a pretty picture!” Kara rolled off Grayson’s lap and stood up. “Anyway, you know what will make me feel better? Seconds. I think I want another bowl of soup before dessert.”

“Oh! Mmm.” Grayson licked his lips at the memory of the rich broth. The strained feeling in his stomach had relaxed somewhat. “Me too, maybe. Just a small one.”

“Sure thing. Don’t move, I’ll bring everything over.”

In the end, Grayson finished two bowls of soup, sighing as his belly grew warm and tight again. He could feel it rounding out now, heavy and swollen with everything he’d eaten. But that was okay. He felt no churning, no guilt, no nausea, no shame. He’d accepted the fullness, body and mind.

Beside him, Kara polished off the rest of the pot, one hand rubbing contentedly at her belly.

There were two whole pies for dessert—one strawberry, one blueberry. Grayson ate a slice of each, and then couldn’t resist taking seconds of the strawberry. He was so enormously full by the end that his belly cramped as the last bite went down—but it wasn’t a painful cramp, just the diligent quiver of a stomach expanding to the very edge of its limits.

He sank back into the couch, blowing out a slow breath as he felt all that food shift heavily inside him. “Oooh… Kara, I’m _so_ stuffed. But it doesn’t hurt! It feels… it feels kind of….”

“Good?” Kara suggested, grinning. “Maybe that’s ‘cause for once, you haven’t been stuffed full of spell filling or shame.” She reached over and gave his swollen stomach a gentle pat. “Just good cheer.”

She was right. He felt warm and sleepy and almost drunk on food, and it was easy to collapse against Kara when she hooked her arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said. “I feel really good right now.”

She gave him a squeeze. “Anytime, Ives. I’m serious. If you ever need a break from this school’s nonsense, just let me know. I’ll make you all the onion pancakes you decide you want to hold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaat finally some luxurious stuffing that doesn't end in pain?! Shocking, I know.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Any comments you leave will be dearly treasured.


	11. The Demo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters are received, secrets are revealed in the dead of night, and… Elliott isn’t feeling very well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG JFC
> 
> I moved twice and started a new job in the past month and a half, so life's been a bit crazy. I'm hoping to be back on track posting at least a chapter a month now though!
> 
> Thanks as always to [chubinecco](https://chubinecco.tumblr.com/) for an extra pair of eyes. Also, go check out some of the kink writing he's been posting on his blog lately, it's great!

There was a letter waiting for Grayson on the breakfast table the next morning. His heart swelled a little as he recognized the handwriting on the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, which he read as he sipped his morning mug of tea: 

> _Dear Gray,_
> 
> _Good to hear from you! I was worried that maybe you’d exploded at your very first meal. Would you hate me if I told you what you wrote about that Opening Banquet thing made me laugh until I fell out of my chair? You must’ve looked like a bloated tick! I did tell you you’d have trouble, didn’t I?_
> 
> _Don’t lose hope, though, all right? I’m sure it won’t be long until you’re eating tureens of soup with the best of them._
> 
> _Things are the same as ever back home. Winter is on the way and we’re all working our asses off. Dad got really ill just after you left and still hasn’t recovered right, so I’ve been picking up the slack at the shop. It’s a tough time, but we’ll get through it._
> 
> _Are you coming home for Midwinter? I know you’re not welcome at your folks’ place, but you can stay with us. I hate the idea of you all alone in freezing Westridge! Plus, Ma asks after you at least once a week. I think she misses you almost as much as I do._
> 
> _Write and let me know!It’d be nice to see you._
> 
> _Ben_

Grayson carefully folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. He hadn’t thought much about the upcoming holiday. Every time his mind wandered in that direction, cold dread in the pit of his stomach diverted his thoughts.

Footsteps on the stairs made him glance up. It was Malia.

“Good morning!” she said, making a beeline for the coffeepot. When he took a moment to respond, she added, “Penny for your thoughts?”

“We have a break for Midwinter, don’t we?”

“Mmhmm. The last three weeks of December are off, I think.”

“Are you going home?”

“Of course. Are you?”

“Um… maybe. I mean, I can’t go to my parents’ house, but there’s a… a guy back home I could see.” He felt his cheeks color slightly and quickly asked, “How was the frontball game?”

“Oh—it was nice!” Malia’s voice was genuinely enthusiastic. “I’ve never seen Bramley so fired up about anything, it was really quite adorable. And of course, I stopped at the library.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Well, I’ve got fifty-four archive copies of the _Oppendorff Times_ up in my room.”

“Fifty-four?! That’s going to take forever to go through!”

“I know.” Malia stirred a little sugar into her coffee and joined Grayson at the table. “I’m going to start this afternoon, if you care to join me.”

“Sounds super dull, but sure.”

“Nobody ever said uncovering secrets was all fun and games, Ives,” said Malia sagely as she raised her steaming mug to her lips.

\- - -

The essays for Professor Trott were due on the last day of October. So naturally, on the second to last day October, Grayson found himself parked in the library, surrounded by books and crumpled sheets of paper.

Bramley was right there with him, and so was Kara for the first part of the day. Malia, of course, had finished the week before. She surveyed the boys with a mixture of amusement and pity when she dropped by to bring them mugs of coffee after dinner. “I can’t believe you two left so much until the last minute!”

“I’m a slow reader,” said Bramley sheepishly.

“And what’s your excuse, Ives?”

“Uh….” Honestly, Grayson had gotten so absorbed in his topic that he’d read book after book and completely forgotten to start writing. “Crappy student?”

“I doubt that.” Malia eyed his stack of notes. “Looks like you’re composing a groundbreaking treatise over there.”

“I don’t even know what a treatise is.” Grayson sighed and scrubbed a hand through his ink-stained hair. “Thanks for the coffee, Mal. That was nice of you.”

“You remembered my sugars!” Bramley poked the pair of white cubes she’d left on his saucer.

“Of course. Black during the day, two sugars after dark. I _can_ be thoughtful on occasion, you know.” Malia tossed her hair. “Good luck, boys! Try not to stay up all night.”

At half past ten, Bramley rubbed his eyes and declared his essay good enough. He offered to keep Grayson company until he finished, but Grayson caught him yawning and shooed him away. “Don’t worry about me, I’m almost done. Just go get some sleep.”

The library was eerily quiet once Bramley had gone. In the stillness, Grayson found his focus. An hour sped by in a haze of scribbled words, flipped pages, and feverish re-reading—until finally he dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair, flexing his sore hand.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. He stood stiffly, tucked the pages of his essay into his bag, and began to pack up.

His exhaustion-clumsy fingers fumbled over his eraser. It slipped out of his hand and bounced away under the table.

“Shit,” Grayson mumbled. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled between the table legs, feeling around in the darkness.

That’s when he heard it—the barely-audible sound of footsteps approaching on the thick carpet. Instinctively, he froze.

The low murmur of speech reached his ears, and his breath caught in his throat as he recognized the voice of Agent Smythe.

“…very disappointed in your work,” he was saying. “Left on the shelf for anyone to find! A pig herder would’ve had more common sense.”

“It’s _not_ like _anyone_ could’ve found them!” retorted an irritable voice Grayson recognized as the librarian’s. “They were _hidden._ That’s what I was told to do. Hide the damn books.”

Grayson’s heart vaulted up into his throat. He didn’t dare to breathe as shadowy feet emerged from behind the shelves and crossed his field of vision.

“It was expected that you would physically remove them!” said Agent Smythe sharply. “Put them somewhere inaccessible, rather than relying on those lazy sigils of yours.”

“Then that’s what you people should’ve told me to do in your letter! I’m a _mage_ , of course I’m going to use magic to make my life easier….”

The librarian’s words faded away as the pair moved deeper into the room—and closer, Grayson realized, to the place where the yearbooks were stored.

This was one conversation that Grayson _had_ to hear the end of.

His senses, which had been idling in the safety of the school, suddenly awakened into the sharp instincts of a hunter. Noiselessly, he slipped out from under the table and melted into the shadows of the towering shelves. The carpet was thick and soft under his feet, and it was almost gleefully easy to slink along, just barely out of sight. He was glad for that. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was a crime he could've probably recovered from, but if he was caught actively eavesdropping, well…

He caught up in time to hear the tail end of the librarian’s gripes. “…Have you ever moved thirty books by yourself in the heat of summer? I wasn’t about to do _that._ ”

“Your self-pitying attitude does not become you. You’re lucky your father is so well-connected, otherwise I would’ve dismissed you on the spot. I do hope you’ve redeemed yourself with this task.”

“See for yourself,” said the librarian. “You can’t even tell the difference.”

The two men had stopped. There was the quiet squeak of a door opening and the flash of a light switched on. Even from the other side of the shelves, Grayson had no doubt. They were entering the yearbook room.

He didn’t dare get any closer, but luckily the men only pulled the door to rather than shutting it. He could still hear Agent Smythe’s voice perfectly: “These are the reproductions?”

“Yep.”

A long pause. The faint sound of pages being turned. Then— “Very convincing. I must say you’ve come through.”

“Told you I would,” said the librarian proudly.

“And the originals?”

“Some of your guys already came and took them away.”

“Good, good. Bumps in the road notwithstanding, you’ve done a great service for RAMA and by extension, the Kingdom.”

“Fantastic. Keep that in mind when you’re reviewing job transfers, will you? I’m sick of living in this boring backwater.”

Grayson held his breath as the two men came back out into the library, closing the door behind them.

“I can’t fathom why you dislike Oppendorff so much,” Agent Smythe remarked. “You’re very strategically positioned here. Besides, the food is excellent….”

Slowly, the voices faded away and the library fell back into silence. Still, Grayson didn’t move. He made himself count to three hundred before creeping around to the other side of the bookcase, easing the door to the yearbook room open, and slipping inside.

The room was pitch black and Grayson didn’t dare turn on the light. If the two men were still in the library, they’d see the sudden glow under the door. He stood in the dark for several seconds, at a loss for what to do, before remembering that he was, in fact, a _mage._

Just after Bramley had left, Grayson had gone to the bathroom and refilled his empty coffee mug with water, hoping some hydration would chase away his caffeine-induced headache. It hadn’t been much, but maybe it had been enough.

He pressed one hand against his stomach and thought hard about what he wanted.

A mote of blue light bloomed in the air before him. It was weak and unsteady, but it was enough to see by.

Not a single yearbook was missing from its place. Grayson examined the shelf where the gap had been, brushing his fingertips over the purple fabric of the spines, until he found the book dated nineteen years ago—the most recent of the volumes that had been hidden. He took it, opened it, flipped through the pages.

His breath caught in his throat. Carefully, he replaced the book and looked through another, and then another, and another, until he was certain he had an idea of what was going on.

Last time he’d been here, these books had concealed a damning story—that eighteen years ago, dozens of OSM students had disappeared over the summer, turning the school from a thriving community to a shadow of its former self.

Now they told a different tale.

\- - -

“Let’s think about this again,” said Malia for what had to be the fifth time that evening. “What you saw yesterday, Grayson, means that RAMA _must_ be responsible for the missing yearbooks.”

“It sure seems that way.” Grayson lowered the newspaper he’d been scanning, glad for an excuse to give his eyes a break from the tiny, faded lines of print. “The school librarian made fakes on Agent Smythe’s orders, at least.”

“And these fakes have been altered to hide the fact that OSM’s enrollment dropped from more than one hundred students to just a few dozen in a single year.”

Grayson nodded. “They took students out of the older books. So now it looks like the number of mages here has been slowly decreasing for thirty years, rather than suddenly dropping off.”

“Right. Therefore, RAMA _must_ have a vested interest in concealing those disappearances!”

“I guess so.”

“What do you mean, you _guess_ so? That’s the most obvious answer, isn’t it?” Malia stabbed her finger in the air, as though its tip could find the people responsible. “The replacement yearbooks are meant to align official records with the false story RAMA’s put in the public consciousness! It _must_ have been them.”

Bramley, who’d been quietly dragging a finger down columns of newsprint while chomping his way through a plate of cheese-and-onion muffins, suddenly spoke. “But why’d the librarian do it?”

“What’s that, Bram?” Grayson asked.

“He works for OSM. Why was he making fake books for RAMA?”

Grayson shrugged. “RAMA has authority over all the magic schools, don’t they? I guess they can order school employees around.”

“It’s a good point, though,” said Malia thoughtfully. “Why would Smythe and the librarian sneak around in the dead of night unless they were trying to hide their arrangement? I wonder if the Headmistress knows her school’s history has been tampered with.” She shook out another sheet of newspaper and buried her nose in it. “The sooner we figure out what they’re hiding, the happier I’ll be!”

Grayson sighed and rubbed his eyes, wishing he had her motivation. They’d only been sifting through papers for half an hour and he already had a headache. Over the past couple weeks, they had gone through maybe four months worth of old news and discovered nothing more interesting than the final scores of long-forgotten frontball games and a bubbling scandal over who had been crowned Oppendorff’s Winter Princess nearly twenty years ago.

“Here’s something, maybe!” said Bramley. “It says there was… blood in the park after h… hungry rams. That’s weird, right?”

“Hungry rams? What on earth…?” Malia budged her head over his shoulder. “That’s… not what that says, Bram.”

“It’s not?” Bramley leaned over and squinted, nose an inch from the page.

Malia frowned and put her finger on a line of text. “Here, what’s this letter? Can you read it?”

“Uh—it’s a… isn’t it a B?”

“It’s an F, Bram. There was a _flood_ in the park after _heavy rains._ Hasn’t anyone ever checked your eyes? Maybe you should—”

She broke off as Kara, who had been sitting at the kitchen table and pointedly ignoring all the conspiracy-theorizing happening at other end of the room, gave a sudden squeak.

“You all right over there?” Grayson called.

“We got a note!” said Kara, holding up a folded sheet of paper. The first-years had recently discovered that the notes they sometimes found on their table in the morning were delivered magically, materializing on a sigil carved into the wood. “Took me by surprise, that’s all!”

“Well, what’s it say?”

Kara unfolded the paper. “It’s Ryder’s handwriting,” she reported, and then cleared her throat to read the letter aloud.

It went like this: 

> _Dear first-years,_
> 
> _Some upcoming dates of interest for you:_
> 
> _The annual Third-Year Demo will be held on the final Wednesday of November. At this event, our senior students will showcase their most exciting spellwork for the whole school to witness. You are strongly encouraged to come see what they’ve been working so hard on and perhaps get ideas for your own future studies._
> 
> _The following Friday, OSM will put on its traditional Winter Ball. This will be a time of fun and good cheer, during which you can relax and celebrate your many achievements. You may dress up and invite a date, if you’re so inclined._
> 
> _After the Ball, your winter break begins. You should arrange transport if you plan to travel home. The school will be closed for maintenance during the break, and while you are welcome to stay in your rooms, you will have to arrange your own meals and tolerate the noise. You will be expected back in time for classes on the first week of January._
> 
> _Should you have questions, don’t hesitate to come see me._
> 
> _—Ryder_

\- - -

“So what’s this Demo thing? Do all you third-years do something for it?”

Elliott blinked, looking surprised at the question. Grayson didn’t blame him. It was the kind of thing he normally would’ve taken to Ryder—kind, approachable Ryder, who offered to answer questions in the closings of his letters and always had a moment to spare. But instead, he’d let his curiosity drop out of his mouth in the middle of tutorial.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Elliott answered after a pause. “All members of the third-year class are expected to take part in this stupid tradition, myself included.”

“What kind of spell are you planning?”

Elliott’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason you care?”

“No… just curious.”

“Are you really? You’re sure you aren’t trying to distract yourself from the filling you still have to eat?”

Grayson sighed and stared down at the bowl of chocolate mousse on the table in front of him. It was only a few bites, but he was so uncomfortably full already, and the sugar was starting to stick in his throat.

For the past couple weeks, Elliott had had him focus on variations of the few simple spells he knew. Grayson had been awed and excited when he heard he was going to learn to how turn _himself_ invisible—a little less so when he realized how much more he had to eat to cast on a person than an object. Even now, with enough food in him to make his belly press against his shirt, he could only muster enough magic to turn himself lightly translucent.

“Look,” he said, a little defensively, “if you’ve got some genius idea for how I can get this much food down any faster, I’m open to learning it.”

“Are you? That’s a nice change.” Elliott crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “All right. Finish your food and I’ll watch your technique for potential improvements.”

Grayson took a shallow breath, steeling his insides for more. Then he picked up his fork and determinedly cleaned up the final bites. He couldn’t keep himself from squirming uncomfortably as his stomach quivered with the weight of the last swallow.

“Stand up,” said Elliott. “Go over to the wall and face me.”

Everything in Grayson’s belly sloshed as he stood, and he stifled a little burp on the back of his hand. It felt decidedly uncomfortable, but nowhere near as unbearably sickening as it once had. Slowly but surely, he was getting accustomed to feeling stuffed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Stand up _straight_ ,” Elliott ordered.

“I am!”

“You’re not.”

Grayson sighed and tried to elongate his spine. His bloated belly twinged at the stretch. He groaned and shifted on his feet, trying to find a position that took some of the pressure off his stomach.

“I think I know what your problem is,” said Elliott. “Well, one of many.”

Grayson took as deep a breath as he could. “Okay, fine. Let me have it.”

“You’re trying to avoid the pain. That’s why you’re standing all hunched over, why you’re putting off filling by asking useless questions. You don’t want this to hurt, do you?”

“Uh—no, not really?” That seemed extremely obvious to Grayson. “I mean, nobody ever _wants_ to be in pain.”

“They do if they want to cast half-decent spells.”

“Well, that’s stupid!”

There was a long moment during which Elliott skewered his student with a withering glare.

Grayson continued defiantly. “I mean, that’s why we have the Soothing Room, right? It makes sense to delay the pain as long as possible! I can’t keep eating when my belly gets too sore!”

“I think you’d find that you _could._ You just don’t want to.”

“I mean that I can’t keep eating and still stay focused enough to cast!”

“That may be so, but that’s a shortcoming on your part. One you would do well to correct.”

“I just don’t see why it isn’t better to stay comfortable as long as you can. Ryder says that we—”

Elliott’s tepid annoyance suddenly flared hot. “Whose advice did you ask for, Ryder’s or mine? I’m sure Ryder is doing a fantastic job of shaping you into a sweet simpering little soother—but _my_ job is to teach you to be a di-mage!”

“But it’s not like—”

“Until you get your capacity up, you’re going to _have_ to learn how to put more food into an aching stomach. You’re going to _have_ to learn to cast when you feel like you’re going to throw up. That’s part and parcel with the lot you’ve been given in life! In digestive magic, the source of your pain is also the source of your power and you will never get anywhere if you’re constantly flinching and pulling back.”

“But don’t you—?”

Elliott’s voice was as hot and dense as new-forged iron. “You cannot be afraid of pain, Ives. Understand?”

Grayson grimaced, but forced himself to nod. Some arguments just weren’t worth the effort.

“Now try the spell again. No, don’t sit—stay against that wall. I want to see the grain of the wood through you before you leave this room.”

\- - -

Class was cancelled on the day of the Demo. Instead, Professor Trott ushered the first-years down to the dining hall, where a small crowd was milling around a set of nondescript doors at the back of the room.

“The Amphitheatre only opens twice per year,” Trott explained. “It’s a very old and very grand room! We allow its use on this day so that our third-year students can familiarize themselves with the environment, in preparation for—ohoho!” He broke off, eyes visibly tracking a member of the kitchen staff bearing a tray of sausages on tiny sticks. “Do excuse me, I’ll be right back!”

Malia frowned as she watched him hobble towards the snack table. “Preparation for what, do you think?”

Before any of her classmates could answer, a voice behind them spoke. “A very thoughtful question, Miss Pikolt.”

The first-years spun around to face a presence so grand and commanding it was hard to say how she had managed to sneak up on them. Her black cloak hung about her shoulders like a king’s mantle and her star-shaped pin glittered in the light.

Headmistress Vale offered them a warm smile before continuing, “Our annual Demo was originally devised as a practice run of the Proving Exam that our third-year class will take in the spring. I believe Professor Trott was referring to that.”

“Oh,” said Malia politely. “That does make sense, thank you, ma’am. I’ve been curious as to what this Proving Exam entails.”

“As you should be!” said the Headmistress with an approving nod. “However, I would caution you against expecting what you’re about to see to provide a full picture of the examination process. During a Proving Exam, each mage is allotted three hours to showcase their best work. They must start from scratch—all filling is consumed in front of the evaluators. As you can imagine, three hours per student is rather lengthy for an afternoon event.Therefore, we devised a condensed format. Each student has chosen a single spell from their repertoire to perform today, and they will have already consumed most of the filling before they take the stage. Much more comfortable for an audience that way.”

Here she paused and glanced at each of the first-years in turn. “Because this afternoon, the audience is as important as the performers! The Demo is an opportunity for you first-years as well. Observe your elder classmates. Draw inspiration from them. Soon, you will stand in their shoes. Oh—the doors have opened, I must be off. Enjoy the afternoon!”

“Thank you for the advice!” said Malia, and the other first-years murmured shyly in agreement as the Headmistress swept away.

“She still scares me,” said Kara as they shuffled along with the crowd.

“Really?” said Malia. “I think it’s nice that she takes interest in us.”

“That’s true, but she’s just so intense.”

“I would say that should make you feel safe. I guarantee that every political interest in Kingswood would snap up a school of di-mages if they were given half a chance. It’s good for us to be in the care of a woman whom no one would dare to cross, and one with our best interests at—” Malia interrupted herself with a gasp. “Oh my gosh, look at this place!”

The Amphitheatre was the finest room Grayson had ever set foot in. Large and round, its tiered seating descended to a circular floor of polished black wood. Everything was finished with intricate fixtures of wrought iron and glass. Decorative mirrors lined the gallery, crystal finials adorned the handrails along the carpeted steps, and an enormous glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling, every link of its thick iron chain bristling with scrollwork.

“Wow,” said Bramley, echoing Grayson’s thoughts. “Imagine taking an exam in here!”

A small curtain had been set up in the center of the floor to form a makeshift stage. In front of the curtain was a long table with five covered dishes upon it. As the audience settled into the rows of seats that had been unroped for the day’s event, a wiry woman emerged from behind the curtain and motioned for silence.

“Good afternoon, OSM!” she said. “I’m Professor Davis, and I have the honor of instructing our third-year class. As many of you know, I act more as a mentor than a teacher, guiding our senior students to resources rather than lecturing them in a classroom. For the past few months, these talented mages have been working diligently and independently, guided by their own unique interests. I hope you all enjoy what they have to show you.”

Allison was first to take the stage. The confident smile never left her face as she lifted the cover off one of the dishes and began to work through the bowl of strawberries sitting underneath.

A few minutes passed in respectful silence. Grayson had just begun to wonder why they didn’t just do all the eating beforehand when Allison suddenly raised one arm. On the far side of the room, an empty row of chairs rose into the air. Like a line of ants, they sailed single-file towards the ceiling, swirled around the chandelier, and returned neatly to their places, landing with barely a thump.

“Very impressive,” Malia murmured under the sound of applause.

“Is it?” Grayson asked. “I thought moving things was basic magic.”

“Not for di-mages. Allison explained it to me once. We have a harder time with locomotive spells than, say, sign-mages. But once we manage them, we can move much bigger objects for over longer distances.”

As the applause died down, Allison bowed graciously and then took a seat in the front row.

Tim was next. He turned the floor from wood to glass and then back again. Ina performed the same rejuvenation spell that the first-years had seen her cast in the Soothing Room, this time transforming a shriveled stick into a vine hung thick with grapes. Sara caused a small raincloud to condense near the ceiling and illuminate the room with a flash of brilliant lightning.

Finally, it was Elliott’s turn.

“This should be interesting,” Malia whispered. The rest of the audience seemed to agree with her. Anticipation hung thick in the room. In one of the center rows, the Headmistress watched her son step out from behind the curtain with hawkish intensity. A few seats away, Grayson noticed, Agent Smythe sat wearing a relaxed smile.

Down on the stage, Elliott stood still. His eyes passed coolly over the crowd.

“What do you think he’s waiting for?” Grayson asked.

“Dramatic tension, probably,” Kara snorted. “Oh, _there_ he goes.”

Grayson recognized his filling. It was oatmeal, the same kind that Elliott had eaten before making a tiny, beautiful illusion of a bird appear on his hand all those weeks ago. He scooped it up slowly, taking care with each dip of his spoon.

Grayson had seen Elliott cast enough times to know his technique. Usually he ate with systematic quickness—swallowing down his food like a machine, barely seeming to chew at all. So the sluggish, irregular way he was eating now struck Grayson as strange. Each bite seemed precarious, every swallow carefully considered. It reminded him of the way he’d seen people eat in the Soothing Room, just before Ryder stepped in to help.

“Something’s wrong,” he whispered.

Kara frowned at him. “You think?”

“Yeah. He usually eats faster than this.”

No sooner had Grayson spoken than Elliott paused. He hunched over slightly, arms pulling in towards his body—like his stomach hurt but he didn’t dare to hold it.

Kara seemed not to notice. “He’s probably slow ‘cause he’s onstage. Wants to look calm and collected.”

Grayson chewed his lip as Elliott began to eat again, even more slowly than before. “He doesn’t look so calm and collected.”

“No? I can’t tell.” Kara nudged him with her elbow. “Why are you so worried, huh?”

That was a good question. Grayson couldn’t explain it, but something in him really, really wanted Elliott to succeed. He wanted the rest of the school to see that talent he’d glimpsed during his tutoring sessions—to see that for all Elliott’s flaws, he wasn’t exaggerating his own skill. The guy was a huge pain in the ass, but at least he deserved that.

It seemed to take forever, but finally Elliott scraped up the last of the oatmeal and let the spoon clatter to the bottom of the bowl. He brought his hands together and closed his eyes.

The air over the stage shivered with magic. Shadows began resolving into shapes and lines—but then Elliott visibly grimaced, and the energy swirled off like dust in the wind.

The crowd was silent.

Elliott was breathing heavily. His face was strained, lips pressed tightly together. Even from a distance, Grayson swore he could see his throat convulsing.

“He looks sick,” said Malia quietly. “Oh no….”

“That’d serve him right,” said Kara. “Maybe it’d knock him down a peg.”

Grayson gaped at her. “Come on, that’s harsh! I don’t like the guy either, but I sure don’t want to see him puke in front of the whole school.”

“Maybe he’s okay,” said Malia as down on the stage, Elliott seemed to regain his composure. He took a long, slow breath and then pressed his hands together again.

This time, the air around him resolved into a swath of lush canopy. Golden light shone through broad green leaves. Delicate branches swayed in a gentle wind. It was as though a portal to another world had opened behind Elliott, and it spread like ink blotting through paper, growing larger and larger as the fuzzy colors at the edges coalesced into mossy trunks and glimpses of clear blue sky—

Suddenly the scene wavered. Like a dissipating mirage, it swirled itself apart. And as it did, Elliott shuddered and doubled over. His stomach gurgled so loudly that it was audible even from the back of the room.

“Oh shit,” Grayson breathed as around him, the audience broke out in whispers.

For an instant, Elliott stood there—arms folded over his belly, eyes wide and empty, like a fish that had dropped from the sky. Then he blinked, nodded once, and stepped backwards through the curtains.

There was a smattering of half-hearted applause, followed by intense murmuring. Down in the first row, some of the other third-years were laughing.

“That was so bad,” said Bramley. “Poor guy.”

“Look at the Headmistress’s face!” said Malia.

Grayson glanced over to where Headmistress Vale was sitting. She was smiling, as always, but something about it had grown stiff and forced.

“Must be embarrassing for her,” said Kara. “Watching her son strut around this place making an ass of himself, and turns out he can’t even do magic.”

“He can, though!” said Grayson. “Something was wrong there. I’ve seen him cast during our tutoring sessions and he’s actually really good.”

“Not when it counts, apparently,” said Kara unsympathetically.

“He must be ill,” said Malia. “It _is_ flu season. So unfortunate, I really was looking forward to seeing what he could—oh Allison, you did such a marvelous job! All of you did!”

“Thank you, Malia, dear!” Allison came gliding up, with Tim, Sara, and Ina at her heels. “So lovely that all of you could attend!”

“We’re going into town to treat ourselves for a job well done,” Tim added. “You four want to join us? Ina’s got her heart set on trying that ice cream shop down by the river.”

“Ice cream? I’m in,” said Bramley quickly, and everyone chuckled.

“The eight of us, then?” said Sara. She paused before asking, “Do we even bother to invite Elliott?”

Allison laughed. “You really think he’d show his face after _that_ performance? I’d wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t see him for a week.”

Grayson glanced back down towards the stage, scanning the scattering of people still milling around in the stands. He didn’t see Elliott anywhere. Had he ever come out from behind the curtain?

Agent Smythe was still around. He was talking to a pair of OSM researchers in his usual self-assured way. Was his presence here strange at all? Grayson guessed the whole school had been invited, and Agent Smythe _was_ part of the school, it seemed….

“Hey Ives!” Kara shouted. “Are you coming or what?”

Grayson turned to see his friends were already halfway up the stairs. “Oh—yeah, sorry.”

“You seem distracted,” said Kara as he caught up. “Everything all right?”

“I’m fine. I guess I just feel kinda bad that we’re ditching Elliott. I hope he’s okay.”

Kara shot him a sideways glance. “He spends an hour every week treating you like absolute shit, but you hope he’s okay?”

“I mean… yeah. He’s a person. With feelings.”

“You’re such a good-hearted kid, Ives.” Kara looped an arm around his shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just sulking. If you’re going to worry about someone, worry about yourself! You can bet he’s gonna be in a foul mood after that! I don’t envy you having to spend an hour in a room with him at your tutoring session tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and that's it for now.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any comments you leave me will be cherished and adored.


	12. First Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter’s first snow falls on OSM. Grayson gets into a physical altercation, Kara cracks a lot of jokes, and Bramley contemplates the opposite sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank both [chubinecco](https://chubinecco.tumblr.com) and [tiny-tum](https://tiny-tum.tumblr.com) for their proofreading and insight! Aaaand without further ado--

“Cloaking spell. On yourself. Now.”

Grayson hadn’t even sat down yet. “Hello to you too, Elliott.”

The look Elliott gave him was withering. “ _Now._ ”

Grayson sighed wearily as he took his seat. It was going to be a long afternoon.

He was a little surprised that Elliott was even here. Allison’s speculation that he’d be too humiliated to show his face for a few days had seemed likely. And considering how unwell he’d looked the day before at the Demo, he’d had a good excuse to cancel their session. But here he was—hunched in his chair like a raven watching a rabbit-hole, with his big black jacket pulled close around his shoulders and his bad mood brewing on his face.

Under that simmering stare, Grayson pulled the tray resting on the table towards him and scanned the ingredients. Lately Elliott had been trying to trip him up by offering him filling that could fall into more than one category, or providing the most obvious choices in too-small quantities.

Today, there was no obvious sweet ingredient—but there were several different kinds of fruit. Maybe if Grayson started with a tart fruit for the fresh ingredient, he could use a sugary one for the sweet. Watermelon was probably on the fresher side, and then he could move on to—

_Grrrr-urrrrrrr._

The sound was quiet, but in the silent room it was loud enough to break through Grayson’s thoughts. He raised his head, but quickly put it back down when he saw the stony look on Elliott’s face and realized what it had been.

It occurred to Grayson that Elliott usually ate during their tutoring sessions. He was constantly multitasking, filling himself up so he could start immediately on his own magic after their hour was up. But today, he had nothing in front of him except a glass of water.

…That was none of Grayson’s business, though.

He began working away at a slice of watermelon, forcing his thoughts back on track. After a fresh ingredient, he needed a savory one. There was a container of soup on the table, more than enough for this spell. Then he’d have to pick a sweet fruit. Perhaps that basket of strawberries would do—

_Urrr-rrrrrr—_

Elliott coughed unconvincingly and shifted in his seat.

Grayson tried not to stare at him without _looking_ like he was trying not to stare. He let his eyes rove blankly around the classroom, counting the sticks of chalk abandoned on the blackboard and contemplating the way dust had gotten caught in the cobwebs by the ceiling. Outside the window, winter’s first flurries of snow were drifting down from a flat white sky.

When Elliott’s stomach gurgled again, he interrupted the sound by scraping back his chair loudly. Standing, he went to the window and peered out for a few seconds. Then he stalked to the other end of the room and began poking around in an ancient bookshelf, as though anything of value could be hidden among the crumbling books and ancient journals, before returning to pace restlessly behind the desk.

Grayson pushed a pile of watermelon rinds aside and cleared his throat. “Can you—?”

“Just focus on your fucking spell, Ives!”

Scowling, Grayson tried again. “…Can you use fruit as a sweet ingredient?”

Elliott blinked. For an instant he looked sheepish, as though he knew that his outburst had betrayed something. Then his fury snapped back into place. “What do _you_ think? Why don’t you do some fucking thinking yourself for a change?”

Grayson’s scowl deepened. He reached for another slice of watermelon, muttering, “Why don’t you take a goddamn antacid and get a grip?”

_“What was that?”_

“Nothing.”

“Good. Because if you were mouthing off under your breath, I’d have to tell you that your energy could be much better spent on your spellwork! You’ve already fucked up and haven’t even noticed.”

“How could I have fucked up?! I’m literally on the first ingredient!”

“Did you bother to remember what we discussed last time? About the adjustments you have to make to ingredient ratios when casting on yourself? Reflexive s-spells—” Suddenly, Elliott’s voice stuttered and broke. The lines of his body went rigid and a grimace flashed over his face.

“Everything okay?” Grayson asked, a little more pointedly than he meant to.

Elliott ignored him. He took a shallow breath and grabbed up his sentence where it had fallen. “Reflexive spells require you to halve the first ingredient and double the others. You’ve been thoughtlessly stuffing watermelon in your face with no regard to how much you’ll have to eat afterwards!”

Shit. Elliott was right, Grayson _had_ forgotten to account for that. He had no intention of admitting it, however. “Yeah, well, the more I eat, the better my chances of casting,” he said flippantly, and finished off the final bites of his melon slice just to prove he’d intended to. “I’ve got enough food. I’ll manage.”

“Will you? Last I remember, you have the stomach capacity of a teacup!”

“Worry about your guts and I’ll worry about mine, thanks.” Grayson picked up a strawberry and took a big, defiant bite, only to realize he was mixing up the order of his sweet and savory ingredients. “Oops. Shit.”

“Typical of you,” said Elliott acidly. “Too preoccupied with acting like a childish twit to focus on your work! What’s it feel like to be so fucking useless?”

“What’s it feel like to be such an asshole?” Grayson snapped. His temper flared hot—and then fizzled down, reining itself in.

He took a deep breath. Elliott’s rotten mood was getting to him. There was no reason to stoop to his level, no need to escalate this nonsense. The strawberry would just count as part of his fresh filling and he’d have to pick something else to be sweet. It was _fine_.

He snatched up the container of soup he’d chosen as his savory ingredient and began to drink it down, not bothering with a spoon. He’d need the whole thing anyway now, and the faster he could cast his stupid spell and get out of here, the better.

Unfortunately, Elliott was still ranting. “You come into this room every week like you’ve got something to prove. And yet, you have no fucking ability to figure shit out for yourself! You sit there and whine— _I can’t do it, I don’t understand, my belly hurts—_ as though I’m here to fix all your stupid little problems! How about you shut up and cry on your own time? If you can’t keep your fucking shit together, I’m not about to hold your damn hand!”

Grayson ignored him. He dropped the empty soup container and picked up a bowl of blueberries. They would be sweet enough, right? Probably—maybe—he didn’t really care.

“It’s like you _want_ to be useless! In all the eighteen years I’ve lived at this school, I’ve never seen another—!”

Grayson nearly swallowed a blueberry whole. “Eighteen!” he broke in. “You’ve lived here for _eighteen_ years?”

Elliott glared at him. “My mother works here, you idiot.”

“I thought she only became Headmistress ten years ago!”

“She was in the administration before that! Do you think they pluck school Heads off the street? Why the fuck do you even care?”

“It’s just—I, uh—” Grayson wished he were Malia, able to come up with a smooth little lie on the spot. “Somebody… told me that… it was an interesting year here at the school. Do you remember what th—?”

“I remember nothing.”

“Seriously? Not even—?”

“I was _five years old_ , Ives, I remember nothing!” Elliott turned around and slammed his hands down on the desk. His face has gone red and his jaw was trembling with rage. “Stop wasting my fucking time and get back to work!”

Grayson’s own temper boil over. “All right, fine! It was just a question!”

“The sort of stupid asinine question you’re always spewing! Do you not think before you speak? Does your brain _have_ the capability for self-examination? Or are you actually just this fucking maddening?”

Something inside Grayson snapped. Hatred poured out of the crack—a hot, seething flood of it, filling him up like a explosion of boiling steam.

Fuck it. This was the last straw. Grayson had patiently endured Elliott’s anger for weeks, and for what? He’d never pacified him, never drawn the slightest hint of his approval, never been treated with a single shred of respect. Enough of this steaming bullshit. If Elliott wanted to fight, Grayson could give him a damn fight.

He pushed back his chair and stood up.

Elliott whipped around to look at him. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“I’m ready to cast.” Grayson went to go stand by the wall, where he’d been practicing the invisibility spell.

“Oh no you’re not. You barely ate any sweet filling at all.”

“I think I can manage.” A pulse of satisfaction coursed through Grayson’s simmering blood at the infuriated look on Elliott’s face.

“Get back in your chair and finish your filling, Ives!”

“Or what? You’re gonna make me?” Grayson crossed his arms. His body was alive with anger, hot and sharp.

Elliott rounded the desk and strode towards him. For a moment, Grayson thought he was going to haul off and punch him, which filled him with a momentary thrill because he was sure he could hit back harder. But Elliott stopped inches away, so close that Grayson could feel the heat of his breath.

“Fine,” he said. “Cast your fucking spell. I’m watching.”

“Get out of my face.” Grayson tried to side-step away, but Elliott mirrored him, blocking his path and keeping his back against the wall.

“What’s the matter? I thought you were all ready to cast!”

“Not with your stupid ugly sneer right there, I’m not!”

“I’m _ugly_ now, am I? You sound like such a child!” Elliott let out a haughty snort. “Did someone piss in your coffee this morning, Ives? I haven’t got a clue what your problem is today, but you—”

“ _My_ problem? What about _your_ problem?” Grayson jabbed a finger at him. “ _You’ve_ had a problem since day fucking one!”

Elliott’s eyes flashed with anger. They were so dark. The irises weren’t just brown—they were nearly black, so incredibly dark that even with his nose an inch away, it was almost impossible to see where his pupils began.

“Don’t you stick your finger in my face,” he hissed.

“Why don’t you back off, then?”

“I’ll back off as soon as you c—” Elliott’s breath suddenly hitched, and the miserable rumbling of his stomach was clearly audible before he forced out the rest of the sentence “—c-cast that spell.”

Grayson pounced. “This is all because you’re sick, isn’t it? You don’t feel well and you’re taking it out on me!”

Elliott narrowed his eyes. “Don’t talk shit, Ives.”

“You wanna pretend I haven’t been able to hear your guts gurgling away all afternoon? Plus, you’ve been drinking tonic. I can smell the ginger and mint on your breath.” Grayson felt his face curl into a smirk. “So the great Elliott Vale gets stomachaches too!”

“Oh, like you could sneer at me! I know you come to every tutorial with tonic in your pocket!” Elliott spat. His voice oozed with hatred, sharp syllables hissing and crackling on his lips. “Even the best di-mages suffer occasional digestive upsets.”

“I don’t know. I was at the Demo yesterday and I only saw one di-mage having stomach trouble.”

Elliott’s face went red. “Ohhh, I _really_ fucking hate you! I _really_ cannot stand—”

For an instant, Grayson could not say which one of them had actually kissed the other. One moment he was thinking how much he wanted Elliott to shut his stupid obnoxious mouth, and the next, that stupid obnoxious mouth was pressed against his own.

Apparently, he’d initiated. That was clear enough when they broke apart and Elliott jerked back, eyes wide and shocked.

“I—I-I’m sorry,” Grayson stammered. “Holy shit, I’m so s—!”

He never finished the sentence. The breath was knocked out of him as his shoulder blades connected with the wall. Grayson flinched, expecting to be punched—but it was Elliott’s lips that connected, hot and hungry, demanding and forceful and so _fucking_ insufferable, and all Grayson’s thoughts went up in a blaze of fury and want.

Suddenly he was fighting back—or rather kissing back—growling as he felt teeth against his lips, squirming against the press of fingers into his flesh—and then he was tearing at Elliott’s buttons, tugging off that stupid billowing jacket—desperate to rip the armor from this infuriating man, to find the raw flesh underneath all the acid and bluster—desperate to make him helpless, make him weak, make him whimper and squirm and groan….

Grayson would try to make sense of it later, to parse through that mixture of riveting hate and furious want and process it into something that made sense. Maybe his body had noticed that his heart was pounding and his hands were shaking and had gotten confused as to why. Maybe his animal urge to kill Elliott had somehow gotten twisted into a very different kind of animal urge. Maybe it was because whimpers of arousal, when desperate enough, sounded a lot like whimpers of pain.

All Grayson knew for sure was that not so long later, he was only partially-clothed, bruised in some slightly suspicious locations, and more carnally satisfied than he’d ever been in his life.

He and Elliott didn’t talk afterwards. Somehow, that wasn’t awkward. There was nothing to say; they had reached a mutual understanding already.

Eventually Elliott’s grumbling belly broke the silence. He stumbled over to where his jacket lay on the floor to fish a tonic out of his pocket. When he turned around, licking the last drops from his lips, he met Grayson’s eyes, and Grayson took that as a sign that he should leave.

\- - -

“You had casual afternoon hate sex with _Elliott?_ ”

Grayson stared down at the floor, feeling his cheeks flush bright red under Kara’s incredulous stare. “Um. I think that’s is a pretty strong word for—”

“He pissed you off so much that you _kissed him,_ and then the two of you proceeded to bring each other to orgasm in a spare classroom. Am I understanding this correctly?”

“…Okay. Yeah.” Grayson buried his hands in his hair. “Ugh, it sounds so bad when you say it like that!”

“I don’t believe you, Grayson Ives!” Kara shook her head. “I can barely stand being within thirty feet of that bastard. The thought of him partially unclothed makes me want to gag. I imagine him all withered and greasy.”

“No, he’s—” Grayson blushed even harder. “Um. That wasn’t a problem.”

Kara snorted, her disbelief now laced with amusement. “Well, I hope it was some of the best you’ve ever had, because you’re _never_ gonna hear the end of it now! Just wait until Malia and Bramley find out!”

“Oh Creator, can’t we just keep this between us?”

“Nope!” said Kara cheerfully. “No secrets among classmates, remember?”

“What’s this about secrets?” asked Malia as she and Bramley entered the common room right on cue.

“Guess who Grayson did while we were all in class?”

Malia raised her eyebrows. “ _Who_ he did?”

“This—this doesn’t leave this room, understand?” Grayson spluttered. “Or I’ll never speak to any of you ever again, I swear it on the Creator’s grave!”

Kara glanced at him, clearly savoring the big reveal. “None other than OSM’s leading heartthrob: _Elliott._ ”

Malia looked scandalized. Bramley simply raised an eyebrow and said, “Really? Why?”

“Ugh, it’s… hard to explain.” Grayson wished everyone would stop staring. “I was at tutoring like normal, and he was just so aggressive today! Way worse than he usually is, jumping down my throat for every little thing I said. I seriously wanted to wring his neck. And at some point, he was getting right up in my face, and instead of wringing his neck, I… I just….” He shrugged helplessly.

“That is absolutely perverse,” said Malia, sounding a little impressed. “I wouldn’t have expected it from you, Ives! So there's a secret freaky side underneath all this unassuming niceness?"

“Look, it’s—this is not what I usually do! I don’t... I _don't_ get off on hating people! I just—I don’t know, he just makes me so _angry_ and—and everything got all scrambled up in my head!”

“I'm more surprised he kissed you back,” said Malia, and then laughed as Grayson gave her a reproachful look. “Not to say you aren’t kissable, Ives—it’s just, Elliott’s not very approachable, is he?”

Kara snickered. “Apparently if you approach him with a certain body part out—”

_“Kara!”_ Grayson buried his head in his arms. “I’m actually going to kill you.”

Kara put a hand on his shoulder. “Aw, cheer up! It may be my sacred duty as your friend to give you a hard time about this, but at least you’re getting some action. That’s more than I can say for myself.” She sprung up off the couch and went to go peer out the window. “Hey, now that we’re all here—who wants to go outside?”

“Not me. I’ve got some reading I want to finish.” Malia took an old newspaper out of her bag and unfolded it. The sight jolted Grayson’s memory.

“There was something else,” he said. “He’s been at the school eighteen years!”

Malia’s head snapped up. “What? Who has?”

“Elliott. And his mother. It came up when he was yelling at me. His mother’s only been Headmistress for ten years, but she had an ordinary administrative job here first. I… tried to ask him about it, but he got _really_ pissed off.”

“Like, suspiciously pissed off?”

“Maybe? It was hard to tell. He was… pretty pissed off to begin with.”

“Do you think you could try asking him again? Sometime when he’s less worked up?”

Grayson groaned. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even know how I’m gonna look him the eye again the next time I have tutoring….”

“This is good information though!” Malia put a thoughtful hand to her chin. “Even if they weren’t around to see the incident, there must’ve been some obvious aftermath. Elliott may have been too young to remember it, but his mother….”

Kara leaned over the back of the couch and plucked the newspaper out of Malia’s hands. “C’mon, Mal, forget the conspiracies for an evening. Let’s go outside!”

Malia frowned, trying to swipe the paper back. “But I’m so close to being done! That’s the second-to-last paper we have to go through.”

“Good, that means you’ll have plenty of time to read both of them before break. Meanwhile, I’ve never touched snow before!”

That got Malia’s attention. “Oh! Right, you wouldn’t have!”

“So I fully expect all of you to come out and help me build my first snowman!” Kara snatched Bramley’s scarf off its hook by the door and tossed it to him. “Come on, Bram! You too, lover-boy!”

In a matter of minutes, the first-years were all bundled up and crunching out onto the pristine whiteness of the school’s driveway. The snow was really coming down now, fat fluffy flakes drifting from a soft gray sky. Drifts were already building up against the school's wooden walls and on the branches of the evergreens that carpeted the mountain at their backs. Down in the city, streetlamps and windowpanes glowed with warm yellow light.

Kara stared up into the sky and laughed in wonder. “Creator! It’s so beautiful.”

“You’re missing the best part!” said Malia cheerfully, and nailed Kara square in the jaw with a loosely-packed snowball.

Kara yelped, swiping ice crystals from her cheeks. “Ow! Oh, you’d _better_ run, Mal!”

The girls took off into the front lawn, laughing and shouting as they coated each other in handfuls of glittering powder. Grayson hung back. His mind was still heavy with unsettled thoughts.

…He _didn’t_ get off on hating people… did he? Sure, he’d been angry. Anyone would’ve been angry! But anger wasn’t supposed to feel that good. There _had_ to have been something else, right? Elliott was… well, he _was_ physically attractive in some way, Grayson really couldn’t deny that any more. But a feeling of smoldering hatred still stirred in his gut at thought of him. Sex wasn’t supposed to be something you did with someone you hated! It was supposed to be… it was supposed to be… well, honestly, Grayson had no idea what it was supposed to be….

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Bramley approaching until a shadow fell over him. “Ah! Oh—hey, Bram. Not joining the snowball fight?”

“No. Um.” Bramley shifted from foot to foot, clearly nervous. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

Bramley was quiet for such a long moment that Grayson turned and glanced up at him. He was staring hard at the snowy ground, his cheeks a delicate shade of pink.

“There’s a girl,” he said finally. “I wanna ask her out. To the Winter Ball next weekend.”

Grayson’s low spirits soared sky-high. He grinned broadly. “Aw, really? Who is it?”

Bramley’s cheeks went even redder. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“All right, that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. But what did you want to ask me about?”

“How do I do it? I wanna do it right.”

“What, ask her out? Uh….” Grayson tugged at a lock of his hair. “You know, I… I don’t know much help I’m gonna be, because I’ve never really asked anyone out. It always just sort of….”

His mind flickered briefly back over his past partners. His first kiss with Ben—warm breath in cold air, soft eyes gleaming in the weak moonlight, that sudden turn of friendly touch into something electric. The boys they’d sometimes meet from nearby towns—names exchanged in secret, casual friendships turning to casual kisses, and sometimes more because who the fuck was going to stop them? And now this weird hate-tryst with his obnoxious tutor.

It always just sort of _happened._

He cleared his throat. “But, uh—I guess you should just pick a good time to ask her and go for it! Maybe think of a little gift or a nice gesture for her. Something personal to what she likes.”

“Hmm.” Bramley rubbed his chin. “What makes it a good time?”

“Shit, I dunno. Whenever it feels natural? It’s got to feel natural at some point, right?”

They were silent for a moment. Out on the lawn, the girls had forgotten their battle and started rolling up the base of a snowman.

“You should ask Kara,” said Grayson. “She’s really good with romantic stuff like that. I… my sex life has never exactly been a fairytale.”

Bramley made a low sound in the back of his throat. “Maybe not. Wanted your advice anyway."

Grayson didn’t know what to say to that, so he let the conversation lapse into another silence. The frosty air was beginning to numb his fingers, and he slipped his hands into the sleeves of his coat.

“Cold?” Bramley asked, glancing at him. “Me too. I want hot cookies. You want to make cookies?”

“Oh Creator, yes.” Grayson felt his mouth fill with water at the idea. “Kara’s gonna turn up her nose at anything we bake, though.”

“More for us then,” said Bramley cheerfully, and Grayson laughed.

They had warm sugar cookies cooling on the table and big pot of hot chocolate simmering on the stove by the time the girls came in, rosy-cheeked and brushing ice from their hair, and after and evening of sitting by the fire and nursing a warm belly full of treats, Grayson felt a lot more like himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you guys. Leave a comment or drop me a line on tumblr. <3


	13. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the winter break approaches, Grayson’s upcoming trip home and uncertain feelings about his tutor are weighing heavily on his mind. Unfortunately, not everything gets wrapped up nice and neat. Also featuring—tag-team belly rubs, a very blushy Bramley, and Ryder getting festive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [tiny-tum](https://tiny-tum.tumblr.com/) / SkyWrite for proofreading and for helping me with a ton of stuff I got stuck on the during the loooooong process of writing this chapter.
> 
> Also, if you like my work, go check out [her writing!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892070/chapters/39676407) She also writes plotty, character-driven stuff with a healthy dose of tummies. ^^

Grayson knew he shouldn’t have waited so long to buy a train ticket. The prices were ridiculous now, only one week away from the day he planned to travel, and right before Midwinter too. But he’d been sparing enough with his allowance that he could easily afford it, so he turned away from the ticket counter without too much regret.

The little scrap of paper felt electric in his pocket as he climbed the hill from the train station back up to the school. He’d written Ben weeks ago, accepting his invitation to stay over during the holidays, but none of that had seemed real until now. It was going to be so weird, going home. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to see the narrow dirt streets of his town, to walk through the towering leaf-bare trees of the forest that had raised him. Those places, once all he’d ever known, now swam through his memory like a distant dream….

Snow crunched under Grayson’s feet as he crossed OSM’s driveway. He stamped his boots clean and brushed the flakes from his coat before going inside.

The entrance hall was ablaze with light. Grayson, used to the persistent gloom of OSM’s corridors, squinted against it. From the far end of the room, where the main staircase swept up towards the second and third floors, echoed the slightly off-key strains of a Midwinter carol.

It was Ryder, singing to himself as he knelt on the steps and fished bright glass baubles out of a cardboard box. He looked up from his work at the sound of the big front door swinging shut. “Grayson! Happy Saturday!”

“Hi Ryder.” Grayson wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. He sort of wished he could get away with raising a hand in greeting and hurrying on his way, but the corridor back to the apartment was over near the stairs.

“What brought you out into the cold this morning?” Ryder asked as Grayson approached. “You look preoccupied. Something on your mind?”

“Just had to run an errand in town.” Grayson paused to watch as Ryder pinned a bauble onto one of the swatches of pine that had been lashed to the bannister. “What are you doing?”

“Decorating for the Winter Ball, of course.”

“Isn’t that still a week away?”

“It is, but there’s plenty to prepare! The food and main festivities will be held in there.” He nodded to the doorway that opened onto the dining hall. “But out here, we’ll have musicians playing in the gallery and some space for dancing. It’s going to look lovely when it’s done.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.” Grayson scanned the long balustrade around the second-floor gallery. “I hope you’re not doing it all by yourself.”

“Not at all. The facilities staff do most of the work. They just know how much I enjoy Midwinter decorating and indulge me.” Ryder carefully adjusted the bow tied to the finial, so that the ends hung evenly. “Are you sure there’s nothing on your mind?”

“Uh—not really, I’m just going back to my room.”

“Well, you know you can always talk to me if you need to.”

“Yeah. I know. Thanks, Ryder.”

Ryder dipped his head in acknowledgment before turning back to his work, and Grayson continued on his way.

He’d gone a dozen paces down the corridor when something made him stop short and spin around.

Ryder was still on the stairs, untangling a long string of silver beads. He smiled as he saw Grayson jogging back towards him. “Something you need after all?”

“Yeah,” Grayson panted. “I have a question. Can you tell me how mages get sorted into schools?”

“How we get sorted into schools?” Ryder frowned thoughtfully. “Are you referring to the examination you took on your twenty-first birthday? That’s an ancient thing, passed down from the mage-scholars of Old Sumoria. No one alive could truly explain it to you how it works.”

“I was wondering more like… what made me a di-mage? As opposed to a… a sign-mage or a thought-mage? Or just a regular person? I mean, my parents aren’t mages. How did I even _get_ these powers?”

“Oh—now that’s another complicated question.” Ryder held out the mass of snarled beads. “Why don’t you help me with this? Hold them while I untangle.”

Grayson accepted the tangle of beads. “I’ve just heard so many explanations. Malia says it has something to do with my ancestry. Kara’s family told her it’s caused by the phases of the moon. Tim once asked me if I’d had any childhood illnesses, because he thinks you become a mage if you almost die as a kid. The thing is, nobody seems to have any kind of proof.”

“Indeed. In the absence of evidence, wild conjectures often take root,” said Ryder as he began to wind the loose end of the string around his wrist. “Every corner of this country has its own folk theory to explain why some are born with magical abilities, but the short answer is that even magical scholars don’t know for sure. RAMA has conducted extensive studies. Books have been written on the subject, lengthy research careers dedicated to it—and yet, very few strong patterns have been found. The gift of magic seems to be a random accident of birth.”

“But there’s some kind of inheritance, isn’t there? Like Elliott. Isn’t he from a family of mages?”

“Indeed, that’s one of the few consistencies. Children born to two mages are always mages themselves. Usually belonging to the same school as a parent—but not always, which is an interesting point. We know even less about what causes a mage to belong to one magical school or another. The only consistency is the relative numbers of each type of mage that are discovered each year. Sign-mages have always been most common, while di-mages and thought-mages used to be equally uncommon until the number of new di-mage students took a sharp drop a couple decades back. But the links of inheritance are even weaker there.”

“Huh.” Grayson shifted the ball of beads between his hands, trying to shake the strand free. “So… it’s not like me being a di-mage means that somewhere back in my family tree, I’ve got to have some great-great-great grandfather who was one as well.”

“Not necessarily, no.”

“But it’s definitely a thing you have from birth, right? It’s not like everyone’s born normal and as you grow up, you have to… to _do_ certain things or act a certain way to become a certain type of mage?

“No. The gift never manifests until a mage is roughly twenty years old, but it’s predetermined from birth. There’s a good body of evidence for that—orphaned children of mages who still grow up to be mages, extensive surveys of mage childhood with no notable commonalities—not to mention some rather immoral old experiments in which children were subjected to various treatments to try to provoke magic out of them. Very unsuccessfully, I might add.” Ryder paused. “Why did you wanted to know this so suddenly, Grayson?”

“I was just wondering—”

“Are you worried about going home?”

Grayson was taken aback. “Uh. Yeah, I… I guess it has to do with that. How—How’d you know?”

“A hunch,” said Ryder softly. “Most first-year students can’t wait for Midwinter to roll around so they can see their families again. You look slightly pained whenever the subject comes up.”

Grayson grimaced. Sometimes he wished he could be a little more opaque. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m _worried._ I just feel weird about it.” He took a deep breath and then admitted, “My parents, uh… they weren’t so keen on me being a di-mage. I guess they saw it as a sign that I’d done something to deserve it.”

Ryder tilted his head. “And that would not have been a positive thing?”

“Not out where I grew up. Nobody knows a thing about magic down there. It’s like… in the Blue Hills, we don’t have a lot, so we’re proud that we work hard to survive on what we have. And mages are the polar opposite of that—the government gives them everything, they have special abilities that make their lives easier. Most people in my town would say that mages are just snooty powerful people who are all in cahoots with the government and have probably never done a hard day’s work in their life. And di-mages—we’re the worst, because we eat so much. They imagine we’re all like… like greedy gluttons, basically. Taking up food that could’ve been given to deserving people just to shoot a few sparks from our fingers. And so… you know, I guess everyone back home thinks that in order to become a mage, I must’ve… done something to be like that.”

“I see. It must be very difficult, knowing that that’s how your community sees you.”

Grayson shrugged a shoulder.

“But you know it’s not true,” said Ryder, more strongly. “I suppose you’re hoping to explain all this to your parents?”

“Uh… no, not really. I don’t think they’re gonna want to talk to me. I just feel better knowing that they’re wrong.”

Ryder’s expression sharpened. “You don’t think they’re going to _talk_ to you? When you’re home for Midwinter?”

“Yeah, I mean—it’s fine, I’m not even staying with them. I’m staying with an old friend.”

“And yet, you’re nervous.”

“Well, yeah. It’ll all be weird. But I honestly feel better with what you told me. I feel like… they were wrong, and it wasn’t my fault. I had no control over it.”

“None at all,” said Ryder firmly. “For better or for worse, your magical abilities are nothing but an accident of your birth.”

“Yeah. That’s a good way to look at it.” Grayson let the last of the beads slip through his fingers. “So, uh—do you need any more help? Or else I’m gonna go upstairs.”

“Go ahead. Get back to your day.”

“Okay. Thanks, Ryder.” Grayson turned and headed down the stairs. He was on the final step when suddenly Ryder called out after him.

“Grayson—will you be safe?”

Grayson stopped short and glanced over his shoulder. Ryder’s face was the picture of concern.

“Safe?” he repeated, confused. “What do you—oh! Oh, yeah. For sure, it’s not like—they’re not gonna hurt me. They won’t even want to _see_ me. And I’m staying with Ben, so… I’ll be plenty safe.” He felt a tentative smile spread over his face. “Really. I’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

Grayson half-expected Ryder to push to issue. Instead, his mentor’s gaze flicked down to the floor—just briefly, but long enough that it was noticeable before he resumed his usual steady eye contact. He nodded silently, mirroring Grayson’s smile with a cautious smile of his own, and then turned away to start winding beads between the pine branches

\- - -

The last week of classes seemed to drag by. Professor Trott’s voice had never sounded more monotonous and work around the Soothing Room was slow and subdued. Nobody was attempting any difficult magic so soon before the holidays, and even the unrelenting stream of tonic production was winding down.

Still, Grayson felt like Thursday came too fast.

“Ugh, just kill me now,” he groaned to Kara as she handed him a mug of coffee that morning. “Do you think there’s any way I could just avoid Elliott for the rest of my life?”

“Worried you’re not gonna be able to keep it in your pants again?” Kara cackled, but her laughter died away as she noticed the genuinely miserable look on his face. “Aw, it’s seriously bothering you, isn’t it?”

“I just… don’t wanna think about what happened?”

“Was it that bad?”

“Shit, no. It’s not that.” Grayson pushed a hand through his hair, blushing. “It was… really _good,_ actually? But I don’t even like the guy! I’m just so confused. Like why did I do that? Why did I _like it?_ I feel kind of….” He cleared his throat. “Kind of ashamed of it.”

“Aww.” Kara pulled up a chair beside him and plopped an arm around his shoulder. “Grayson, you didn’t do anything wrong! You have no impulse control, so what? We all knew that already.”

“Yeah, but I—I never had such angry impulses before!”

“Well, maybe that’s why it was so bizarrely good, huh?” Kara reached up and ruffled his hair. “Anger’s a type of passion, and passion is the spice of life! Certainly the spice of love.”

Grayson sighed. “I guess so. It just sounds so _bad._ And I don’t know what it all means. Do I like him? Do I hate him? Does he hate _me?_ I just have no idea what to think—”

“Look, Ives,” Kara broke in, “did you physically hurt him?”

“No!”

“Were both of you into it?”

“Creator, yes.”

“Then you did nothing wrong. And don’t forget, he reciprocated! He’s as responsible for this situation as you are! As for what it means, well—I guess the two of you will figure that out.” Kara patted his shoulder as she got back up to grab her toast from the toaster. “So march into that classroom, hold your head up high, and trust that it’ll all work out.”

\- - -

_She’s right,_ Grayson thought as he climbed to staircase to the top floor, hours later. _It’ll all work out one way or another. And it doesn’t matter which way, because I don’t even know what I want._

Maybe Elliott would be stiff and professional from here on out. That would be fine. It’s not like he’d lost a friend when they had never been friends to begin with.

On the other hand, maybe—just maybe—they could be a little friendlier. That would be fine too. Elliott wasn’t so bad, really, aside from the condescension and the aggression and the constant insults… but maybe that would be different now? It would _have_ to be different, wouldn’t it? Grayson had no idea how you could touch someone the places they’d touched and not at least count yourselves on cordial terms afterwards.

Those thoughts evaporated almost as soon as he opened the door to their usual classroom and felt the metaphorical chill radiating out.

“Uh. Hey,” he said, voice sounding thin in the still air.

Elliott was already sitting at the desk, with some empty bowls stacked by his elbow and a book open in front of him. He did not look up.

Grayson crossed the room to take his seat, determinedly not looking at the part of the room where everything had happened the week before. He could feel heat creeping into his cheeks already. Still, Elliott said nothing.

After a few long moments of silence, Grayson cleared his throat. “So are you not talking to me or something? Not even to tell me what we’re doing today?”

“I would’ve thought that was obvious.” Elliott spoke without raising his eyes from his page.

“Well, it’s not.”

“What have we been working on for the past two weeks without success, Ives? What would the ingredients on the table suggest?

On the table was a bowl of cubed watermelon, a big square pan of yellowish bread, and a pitcher of chocolate milk. Fresh, savory, and sweet. Grayson cleared his throat. “So we’re doing the self-cloaking spell aga—”

“That’s right,” Elliott broke in, finally looking up. “And I’m not going to bother with you until you’ve consumed everything I’ve given you, because I’m sick and tired of wasting my time.”

Grayson stared at the mountain of food on the desk. “Come on, you’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You’ve failed at this spell over and over again, entirely because you choose to complain rather than apply yourself and consume the amount of filling you truly need. I can’t teach someone who’s unwilling to do the work. So get to it.” With that, Elliott returned his gaze to his book.

“This is like, three times the average minimum of that spell!” Grayson protested. “You seriously can’t expect to me to eat it all!”

No response.

“Elliott! Come on!”

Silence.

“What is your _problem?!”_

Elliott raised a hand to his mouth, licked his finger, and flicked over a page.

Grayson leaned back in his seat, sighing heavily. So this was it. The cold shoulder. He’d expected this initial encounter to be awkward, but he’d never thought he’d be outright _ignored._ What a bastard Elliott was.

He was very tempted to just get up and leave. But he had a strong feeling that Elliott wouldn’t bother to try to stop him. The thought of leaving now, of not speaking to him until after the winter break, was unbearable. He had to figure out what the hell was going on. He wanted Elliott to talk. He _needed_ Elliott to talk.

Scowling, Grayson pulled the bowl of watermelon towards him and picked up the spoon.

Silence fell heavily in the room, broken only by the soft sounds of melon being crunched and old paper being turned. At one point, Elliott rested a hand on the table and brought the illusion of a tiny bird into existence in his palm. It hopped over his fingers and pecked around on the table, chirping quietly.

“That looks good,” said Grayson, but even that drew no response. Elliott continued watching his apparition through narrowed eyes, until finally it dissolved away.

After what felt like an eternity, Grayson’s spoon scraped only juice at the bottom of the bowl. He hiccuped, feeling his stomach slosh heavily. “Ugh. Do you _really_ think I need all of this? It’s just so much.”

He didn’t really expect Elliott to answer at this point, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t talk. He kept up a defiant commentary as he pulled the pan of yellow bread towards him and cut himself a piece. “Huh. What’s this stuff?” He took a bite and continued with his mouth full, “I don’t recognize it.”

He noted, with a tiny stab of triumph, the way Elliott’s eyebrow twitched.

“I can tell you think I’m idiot for not knowing, but I can’t help it if we don’t eat it back home.” Grayson took another big bite. “I like it, though. It’s kind of sweet. Savory of course, but sweet too. Is it made of corn? It kind of tastes like— _urp_ —corn.” A second soft belch squeezed its way up his throat, and he sighed and took a moment to pat the side of his belly. “Creator’s blood, I’m getting full….”

He let Elliott have his silence for a few minutes so he could focus on getting the bread down. As delicious as it was, it took up a lot of room, and he swore he could feel his stomach swelling as the soft starchy mouthfuls soaked up the juice of all that watermelon. By the time he was on his final piece, it felt like there was a sack of flour lodged in his abdomen, pressing painfully out from under his ribs.

He slid the empty pan away and burped, feeling food rising towards the back of his throat as he did. “Ughhh, my belly….” He put his hand on the swell of it and pressed gently, trying to ease the ache. “Elliott, I don’t know if I can do this.”

Elliott only yawned. Grayson glared at him, and held that glare for almost half a minute—partly to give his belly some time to settle and partly to see if Elliott would crack. But no. That stony, vaguely angry expression—the harsh angles of his eyebrows, the faint curl of the lips—did not falter.

Grayson’s stomach filled the silence with a labored gurgle. He groaned and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

It was only the chocolate milk left. Maybe he didn’t even have to get it all down. If he could only manage enough to let him cast, all this nonsense would be over.

Gingerly, he picked up the pitcher and raised it to his lips.

_There’s no way this much was necessary,_ he thought angrily as he drank. No fucking way. Elliott was being a overdramatic bastard. That was nothing new, but what really got on Grayson’s nerves was that this time, Elliott was using his bastardry to _hide_. He was acting like an ass because he was too much of a coward to face up to what they’d done—to look Grayson in the eye, set the new status quo, and take responsibility for his actions, the way Grayson had come in fully prepared to do—

Suddenly, he was jolted out of the thoughts by the sensation of his stomach squeezing hard. With a choked whimper, he pressed a hand against his mouth and fought hard against the sudden urge to be sick.

At long last, Elliott spoke: “Are you going to throw up?”

Grayson couldn’t answer. He swallowed heavily, jaw clenched tight. His stomach was quivering with sharp, stretched-out pain, and he was terrified that at any moment, it would seize up and push him over the edge. He hunched over in his seat, trying desperately to relieve the nauseating pressure.

Elliott sighed. “Do your best to keep it down,” he said, and went back to reading.

A precarious belch slipped up Grayson’s throat. He moaned, tasting chocolate tinged with acid.

He could think of nothing worse than throwing up in front of Elliott.

With one hand pressed over his mouth and the other supporting his swollen belly, he stood up and staggered for the door as fast as he could.

He nearly lost it out in the hallway, barely managing to fight back the retch. For a few long minutes, he stood leaning against the wall and took slow, measured breaths. There was a ginger tonic in his pocket, but the idea of swallowing anything else still made his stomach feel like it was about to invert itself.

A few more burps relieved enough pressure that he felt he could move without heaving. Slowly, he began to ease himself along the corridor towards the staircase. If only he could get to his bed… but _fuck,_ he felt so sick….

He was leaning against the top railing, trying to gather his strength for the steps, when two sets of footsteps approached from the hall, one heavy and one light. He raised his head in time to see Malia and Bramley round the corner.

“Grayson! Gosh, are you all right?” Malia ran towards him. “What happened to you?”

“Uh….” Grayson stifled a queasy burp with his hand. “Rough tutoring session.”

“You don’t look well at all.”

“Yeah, I’m….” Grayson gripped her arm as a rush of nausea unsteadied him again. “M’not… not feeling so good….”

“Come on, let’s sit for a moment.” Malia guided him over to the stairs and helped him sit on the top step. “There we go. Poor thing. What did you eat?”

“Too much. Filling I couldn’t cast. Ughhh….” Grayson hunched over, clutching his stomach as it cramped again. He pressed his lips together and struggled to breathe evenly.

“Yeah. Your belly’s poking out,” Bramley remarked, sitting down on Grayson’s other side. His big hand covered the painful swell in soft warm pressure, and Grayson groaned. He leaned weakly into his friend’s chest, feeling dizzy and sick.

“There, there.” Malia’s fingers worked around Bramley’s, pressing soothingly into Grayson’s sides. “Are you going to throw up, Ives? It might make you feel better.”

“No.” He swallowed hard at the thought. “Don’t wanna. Really don’t.”

“All right, what about casting then? Think you could get this spell out your system?”

Grayson cracked open an eye to give her a disbelieving look.

“If you can manage it, that cramped feeling in your tummy will go down faster,” she pointed out. “Maybe it’s worth a try?”

She wasn’t wrong. Grayson was loathe to focus on his stomach any more than it was forcing him to, but with the warmth of Bramley’s hand against it, it felt a little steadier.

He took a shallow breath and went searching for his magic.

It was almost easy. A sensation rippled over his body like a splash of cool water, and he heard Bramley’s soft grunt of surprise. When he opened his eyes, he glanced down at himself and saw only empty air, right down through to the threadbare carpet on the step.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, impressed despite everything.

“Oh, well done, Ives!” Malia gave his tummy a gentle pat. It gurgled, and the sudden burp that came up startled Grayson into losing hold of the magic inside him. His body popped back into visibility, and he groaned and leaned against Bramley’s hand as a little swell of residual nausea gripped his insides.

“You all right?” Bramley asked, and Grayson nodded weakly.

“Guess Elliott was right about me needing to eat that much for that spell,” he mumbled. “But ugh… don’t think I’d do it again.”

“Did Elliott _make_ you eat that much?” Malia sounded affronted

“He didn’t make me. I made myself. He was being a jerk again and I got distracted. Lost track of how much I was eating.”

“Being a jerk how?”

“Ignoring me.” Grayson stifled a hiccup. “Wouldn’t even talk.”

“Wouldn’t _talk?_ After what happened between the two of last week, he wouldn’t _speak_ to you?” Malia frowned deeply. “Oh, Ives. I’m sorry. That’s really rough.”

“Yeah, well. Guess it didn’t make us friends.”

“Honestly, Elliott has been out of line from the start. It’s like every week you back with a new story about how he’s goaded you, or shouted at you, or otherwise disrespected you. And now this.” She rubbed gently at a cramp in his belly, making him sigh. “You shouldn’t be leaving your tutoring sessions this sick.”

“Ugh. Tell that to Elliott.”

“Personally, I think you should tell the Headmistress.”

Grayson almost laughed. “Tell her that her son is an asshole? Don’t think she’ll like that.”

“We can tell her too,” Bramley spoke up. “We know.”

“That’s right,” said Malia. “You’ve got us to vouch for you, Ives."

Grayson tried to imagine himself never returning to that miserable dusty classroom. Never speaking to Elliott again—never enduring another pointed insult or smug retort or aggressive silence.

“You know, I’m not so behind anymore,” he said. “Maybe next semester, I can quit this tutoring shit and rejoin you guys in class. Work out with Ryder that I come to the Soothing Room around that. Who knows?”

“That’s a good idea. Until then, maybe you should just stay away from Elliott as much as you can.” Malia smiled as she watched Grayson pat Bramley’s hand in thanks and gently brush it from his belly. “Feeling better?”

“A lot better. Thanks, you guys.” Grayson sat up straight. “What were you doing up here anyway?”

“Looking for you,” said Bramley. “You got clothes for the Winter Ball yet?”

“Uh. No.” Grayson hadn’t even thought of that. “I guess I can’t just go in my normal clothes, can I?”

“Absolutely not.” Malia offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. “Come with us into town, we’re going to do some shopping. Kara’s meeting us downstairs.”

\- - -

They found Kara in the entrance hall, marveling at the gleaming baubles that shone among the branches on the bannisters.

“Looks like Ryder’s been busy,” Grayson remarked. “This Winter Ball must be a big deal.”

“I’m really looking forward to it!” said Kara brightly. “Allison told me the kitchens really outdo themselves. Plus there’s going to be drinks, music, dancing… it’s been such a long time since I’ve had a proper party!”

“None of you have a date, do you?” Malia asked as they stepped out into the snowy evening.

Grayson cast a sidelong glance at Bramley, raising his eyebrows when he said nothing.

“I figured not,” said Malia. “This school is so tiny, it’s not like we have great prospects. It’ll be fun to go as friends in any case.”

As they started down the hill, Grayson grabbed Bramley’s sleeve and tugged him aside. “Weren’t you planning to ask someone out?”

“Um.” His cheeks, already pink from the cold, went pinker. “Hasn’t been a good time yet.”

“Bram, it’s the night before the Ball! You don’t _have_ a whole lot more time!”

“Yeah. I know.” Bramley looked sheepish. “I’ll do it tonight. When when we get back to school. Promise.”

Oppendorff’s shopping district was bustling with life. People thronged in the narrow streets, stamping snow from their boots as they ducked into cramped doorways and flitted between racks of merchandise. Light blazed in colorful window displays and twinkled from strings overhead. Snowflakes caught the lamplight as they drifted softly down. Grayson stuck close to his friends, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the movement and noise.

Kara found a dress she liked in the first shop they went into. It was a deep golden color, with a flouncy skirt and embroidery along the bodice—the kind of fine clothing Grayson had only ever seen in picture books. Bramley found a nice jacket soon after that, but Malia was a little more fussy.

“You haven’t seen anything you like yet, Ives?” Malia asked as she held up a powdery pink gown, the third she’d looked at in that shop.

“I guess not.” Grayson ruffled through a rack of shirts half-heartedly. “Clothes aren’t really my thing.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone has _some_ sense of fashion. It’s not like you parade around naked.”

“I guess not.” He chose a dark blue buttoned shirt and held it up. “How about this?”

“Hmm. Too casual. But you should buy it anyway.” Malia put the dress back on the rack and turned her attention to him. “It’d look good on you. Honestly, you should buy a several of these shirts. Your current wardrobe is appalling.”

“Ooh, are we finally calling Grayson out on how badly he dresses?” Kara popped around a corner, Bramley right behind her. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for awhile.”

“I’m just saying he should think of getting himself more than just formalwear,” said Malia. She reached up and fluffed his hair. “Also, you’re getting shaggy. Maybe you should get your hair cut too, while we’re out.”

Grayson frowned at his reflection in a nearby mirror as he smoothed his hair back down. He had never liked his hair much. It was the color and texture of dirty straw, and his whole life, his parents had instructed him to keep it short and out of the way. But now that it was longer, it had grown softer, and his cowlicks had relaxed against his head a little.

“I kind of like it this length, actually,” he said.

“Then you need a proper hairbrush and some better shampoo. I saw a drugstore just up the road, we can get you some things there.”

“I don’t know that I—”

“She’s right,” said Kara. “Your clothes don’t really fit and they’re totally threadbare, Ives. Haven’t you been cold in this?” She pulled at the ragged sleeve of his coat.

“It’s not _that_ bad!”

“That’s great—but you’re not in the woods anymore and you can buy yourself something _nice_ for a change. Bramley, what do you think his color is?”

“Hmm.” Bramley looked him up and down, squinting. “Gray.”

“Oh, ha ha,” said Grayson reproachfully.

Kara laughed. “He’s right though! You’ve got these grayish undertones in your hair, your eyes… you’d look good in a soft charcoal. Or a nice sage green.” She passed him another shirt and a pair of trousers. “Here, try these on too.”

Grayson shifted the armload of clothes over his shoulder. “I thought we were here to find outfits for the Ball, not to give me a makeover.”

“Might as well do both at once,” said Malia, patting him on the back. “You’re not tromping about in the mud any more, Ives, I think we all agree that it’s time you stopped dressing that way.”

Grayson left the shop wearing a new coat, carrying a couple bags, and nursing a strange feeling in his chest. It was an uneasy feeling, but not necessarily in a negative way—like the stirring of a caterpillar in a cocoon, or a frog under the mud after the spring thaw. It felt weird—and self-indulgent—spending money on clothing like that. But he couldn’t help looking twice when he caught sight of himself in a shop window, noting the way his coat actually fit around his shoulders. And when Bramley found a smoky gray formal jacket just his size in the next store, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he stood in front of the mirror.

“Damn,” he murmured, biting his lip. “I didn’t know I could look this good.”

“We told you so.” Malia appeared next to him, wearing a glittering dress in a rich shade of blue-green. “Hmm, what do you think of this one? Too much?”

“It looks great. But I mean, you’ve looked great in everything.”

“Flattering, but not helpful,” said Malia with a twisted smile. She snagged Bramley’s sleeve as he tried to sidle unobtrusively past. “What you do think, Bram?

Bramley froze like a deer on a cart-path. “Huh?”

“How do I look in this dress?”

“Um….” Bramley’s eyes darted from her face down to her body and back. Bright patches of red bloomed on his cheeks as Malia, watching him like a hawk, tilted her head to one side and coyly fluttered her eyelashes.

In an instant, everything clicked in Grayson’s mind.

“Really pretty,” said Bramley softly. “You’re really pretty.”

Malia brushed her hand through her hair. “Am I? You think so?”

“Uh—” Bramley seemed to panic. “No, I meant—”

_“No?”_

“No—yes! I mean—your dress is pretty and you—you are pretty in it, and—” For an instant, Bramley looked pained. Then a burst of determination blazed over his face. “You look pretty in that dress. And… all the rest of the time too. And you’re nice and smart and brave and I wanted to ask—do you want to go to the Ball? With me? Like…” He tapped his fingers together nervously. “Us?”

“Like a date?”

“Yeah! If you want.”

Malia’s pointed smile grew gauzy as she stared up into his eyes. “In fact, Bramley, I thought you’d never ask….” Her expression suddenly hardened. “I mean, seriously! I thought you’d _never_ ask! It’s the _night before the Ball!_ ”

Bramley’s cheeks blushed impossibly redder. “Uh. Yeah. Sorry. I’ve been waiting, I wanted it to be right, I….” He fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out what looked like a tiny glittering peacock feather. “I got you this. Remember?”

Malia took it and turned it over in her hands. “Is this… oh my goodness, it’s the hair clip I was admiring! When we were browsing in shops before the frontball game!”

“Yeah! Here, uh….” Bramley took the clip from her and carefully pinned back a lock of her hair. “Look, it matches your dress.”

Malia reached up, letting her fingers brush over the clip. “It does. Perfectly. Well, I guess that settles the matter of which one to buy.” Her eyes flickered from Bramley’s face to the reflection of the two of them in the mirror. “Thank you, Bram. I feel absolutely radiant.” Her hand slid down from her hair and wrapped itself around his fingers. “Well… shall we see if we can find you a tie in the same color?”

As he let himself be led off deeper into the shop, Bramley caught Grayson’s eye and flashed an enormous grin. Grayson grinned back, feeling a blaze of affection for both of them.

Then he heard a soft, humorless laugh behind him and turned to see Kara standing there and biting her lip, and immediately the fire in his heart went hissing out.

“Aw, Kara….” he said. “I’m sorry, I know how you feel about her—”

“It’s all right, Ives. That’s life, isn’t it?” She smiled weakly. “Good for them. They deserve to be happy. I always knew nothing could happen with me and her anyway.”

“Still. That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I guess not.” Kara sighed. “Well, whatever. You should get that jacket, Ives. It looks good on you. I’m gonna wait outside.”

She turned away, the bag containing her new party dress sagging in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments will be treasured and adored~


	14. The Winter Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the Winter Ball is here, and Grayson is determined to keep Kara's spirits up. Featuring tipsy Ryder, platonic cuddling, a whole lot of food, and perhaps a little too much alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: heavy drinking
> 
> With a big thanks to [tiny-tum](https://tiny-tum.tumblr.com/) / SkyWrite who proofread this for me on very short notice. <3

The morning of the Winter Ball dawned bright and cold. 

Grayson came in from his morning run to find Kara sitting at the breakfast table, glumly pushing oatmeal around in her bowl. He reached into his pocket, took out a cinnamon raisin muffin he’d swiped from the kitchens on his way up, and placed it in front of her. 

She stared at it. “What’s this?” 

“A gift,” said Grayson. “Do you wanna be my date to the Winter Ball? My platonic date?”

Kara blinked.

“I know I’m not as cute as your usual dates,” he added, “but you know, I do have my charms.”

That made her grin. “You gonna cry if I say no, Ives?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” She picked up the muffin and examined the crumb before taking a bite. “Hmm, not bad. The cinnamon is adequate. All right, Ives, you’ve got yourself a date."

She seemed a little more cheerful after that, although Grayson still noticed the way her expression grew forced when Malia came downstairs with a spring in her step and her new peacock clip resting proudly in her hair. He also noticed the way Bramley’s face lit up like a sunrise when he joined them at the breakfast table and saw that she was wearing it. Neither of them said anything, but the air was thick with suppressed giggles and poorly-hidden secret glances.

As bad as Grayson felt for Kara, it was hard not to get caught up in how cute the two of them were, especially that evening, when Bramley was pacing around their shared bathroom and worrying at the unevenness of his bowtie.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know how those things work,” said Grayson, nudging his way up to the mirror so he could fix his hair with his new brush. “Relax, Bram. It’s only Malia! She’s not gonna care if your tie is crooked.”

“You think?” Bramley asked nervously.

“Well—she’ll probably care, but she’ll fix it for you. The point is, it’s not like everything’s changed. She’s still your friend, right?" 

“Hmm.” Bramley’s expression went from anxious to wistful. “Yeah, I just… want to make it really good for her. Magical. You know?” 

“Aww, Bram, you will!” Grayson reached up to give his shoulder a light punch. “You already know she likes you! She was _waiting_ for you to ask her out! Just being with you is gonna make her feel like a princess. All you’ve gotta do is down there and take her arm, and you’ll sweep her off her feet. Right?”

“Hmm. Yeah.” Bramley’s smile solidified. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Grayson smiled at his reflection in the mirror after Bramley had left, mentally patting himself on the back for that last line. It sure wasn’t anything _he’d_ ever experienced, but it’d sounded like solid heterosexual advice.

\- - -

Stepping into the entrance hall was like crossing over into a world of primordial mystery. Hundreds and hundreds of twinkling balls of magelight drifted lazily through the air, bathing the room in a glow like shifting moonlight. Ryder’s garlands were glowing too, crusted with what looked like luminescent snow, and soft tongues of flame burned in great iron braziers set against the walls, their flicker adding a dramatic orange cast to the room’s ornamentation of light and shadow.

Grayson had never seen anything like it in his life. It all hit him at once, how bizarre it was that he’d ended up _here_ —standing in this grand room beneath a sea of magical stars, wearing a crisp new jacket that had cost more than his whole wardrobe back home, training to become a _mage_ , of all things—universes away from his most absurd daydreams only five months ago. Suddenly he felt a little shaky.

“Guess you don’t have much in the way of big festivals back home, do you?” Kara asked, catching the look on his face.

He shook his head, unable to find the right words, and she linked her arm with his and tugged him close as they followed Bramley and Malia through the double doors to the dining hall.

That room too had been transformed from its ordinary bland functionality. The usual long tables had been cleared away, replaced by small circular ones draped in shimmering black cloths and already set for a meal. Namecards stood by each plate, and the first-years discovered they had a table to themselves up near the front of the room, where a podium indicated there would be some kind of speech.

Sure enough, no sooner had the milling crowd taken their seats than a bell rang, signaling for silence, and the Headmistress stepped up to the podium. The drifting magelight overhead made her shadow swell and dance around her as she raised her arms to speak.

“Welcome, all of you!” she said, voice echoing off the walls. “Students, staff, colleagues, friends—all the members of our fine community. And to our honored guests—our partners, our loved ones—we are delighted to invite you into our school and our home.”

Grayson glanced around, realizing for the first time just how many people were in the room. At most of the tables, men and women sat with their shoulders nearly touching or their hands resting together on the tabletops. It occurred to him that most of the school’s community was older and probably married. His gaze flickered to Malia in her peacock-blue dress and Bramley in his matching tie, and he wondered for the first time whether bringing a date had been more of an expectation than he’d originally thought.

“Another semester draws to a close,” the Headmistress continued. “And we have so many reasons to be grateful and proud. Our researchers have been working tirelessly to edit our texts and improve our craft, blessed with the valuable insight of our colleagues in Kingswood.”

Surely the other students didn’t _all_ have dates? Grayson craned his neck, trying to spot the third-years—but his efforts were interrupted when a ball of magelight suddenly bloomed overhead, bathing his table in blinding light.

“Our first-year students have taken their first tentative steps on the path to full mage-hood,” said the Headmistress as the room applauded politely. “And we are especially fortunate this year, as our Soothing Room has found an apprentice among the ranks of our newest class.”

Kara clapped Grayson on the back. “Hey, that’s you!”

“And on the other side of this journey stands our third-year class,” the Headmistress continued. “Only five more months until they complete their Proving Exams and receive their work assignments.”

On the far side of the room, a ball of light swelled to illuminate the table where the third-years were glancing nervously at one another—all except for Elliott, who stared pointedly straight ahead. The sight of him sent a little jolt of emotion curdling in Grayson’s belly. He quickly looked away, hating the part of his brain that noted that Elliott did not have a date either.

“I shall keep my remarks brief, as I’m sure we’re all hungry,” said the Headmistress with a light laugh. “Out of consideration to our non-mage guests, we shall keep the formal meal to a reasonable volume. But of course, enough food and drink will be available throughout the evening to satisfy every appetite. I hope you all take the opportunity to relax and enjoy yourselves tonight. Now, without further ado….”

She clapped her hands and the plates on the tables instantly filled. An appreciative murmur spread through the room, quickly replaced by the sounds of scraping cutlery.

As promised, it was a hearty but reasonable amount of food. There were boiled potatoes and mashed turnip, stewed red berries and shredded cabbage, soft slices of buttered bread and bones of salty roasted meat that Bramley informed Grayson were mutton ribs. The cup by Grayson’s plate had filled with hot mulled wine.

The meal was delicious, and for a little while, it was easy to forget the situation, as though they were just four friends enjoying fancy food in fancy clothes. But as they were mopping the juices from their plates, the sound of violins and cello swelled from the entrance hall.

Malia bloomed towards the music like a flower towards the sun. “Oh, how lovely! Shall we go dance?”

“Sounds nice,” said Bramley, smiling shyly at her.

Kara fiddled with her fork. “You know, I’m still kind of hungry. Think I’m gonna stay and have another plate.”

“I could go for seconds too,” said Grayson, ignoring the way Malia raised her eyebrows. “You two enjoy yourselves. We’ll catch you later.”

So off they went, Bramley glowing and Malia giggling as she hung off his arm, and meanwhile Kara and Grayson took their empty plates up to the long table at the side of the room where serving platters of food waited.

“Am I being a bad friend?” Kara asked once they were alone.

“Nah. They probably wouldn’t want us hanging around them all night anyway.” Grayson scooped a few more of the soft, buttery boiled potatoes onto his plate. “No one could blame you for not wanting to watch your crush have a romantic evening with someone else.”

“It’s not even about _her_ , really. I’m glad she and Bramley are so happy, I really am. It’s this whole stupid event! This room is crawling with happy little couples.” Kara stabbed the serving spoon into the mashed turnips a little more viciously than she needed to. “I just want a cute girl to dance with, is that so much to ask?" 

“Good dates are hard to find, I guess.” Grayson set his plate on the edge of the table so he could fill another cup of mulled wine from the big punch bowl. As he ladled, his gaze slipped unbidden over to the table where Sara, Ina, Tim, and Allison were eating and chatting away.

“Everyone _else_ seems to be able to find someone,” said Kara with a sigh. “But all I seem to be drawn to are the cheating hearts and the straight girls. Ugh, romance sucks.” 

Grayson casually scanned the room, pretending he wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. It didn’t matter anyway. Elliott was nowhere to be seen.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “You’re right. But you know what—let’s not think about that shit tonight.”

“How? We’re surrounded by it!”

“So what?” Grayson passed her his cup of wine and began to fill a second for himself. “It’s like you said—romance sucks. Girlfriends cheat and crushes let you down. But at the end of the day, you’ve got your friends to get drunk with.” He turned to her and raised his glass.

The ghost of a smile flickered through the dejection on Kara’s face. “Ha! You know what? I’ll drink to that.”

They returned to their table and cleaned their plates a second time. Grayson managed a few more potatoes when Kara suggested thirds, but after that, he was decidedly done.

“Oooh, Creator.” He slipped a hand under his jacket and patted his stomach, which felt much bigger and firmer than it had been an hour before. “Come on, Kara, I can’t eat anymore. Let’s get up and wander around.”

“You’re such a lightweight, Ives,” she laughed, but she obligingly took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Okay, we can wander. But let’s stay away from the stupid dance floor, all right?”

The dining hall was almost empty now, with most people having migrated out to enjoy the music. Those who remained stood in clusters, chatting as they sipped at their drinks. Grayson didn’t recognize most of them, but he did spot the Headmistress over at table, engaged in what looked like a light and breezy conversation. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the burly frame and scruffy beard of the librarian. 

“Hey, there’s Ryder!” said Kara. “Who’s that he’s talking to?”

Grayson tore his eyes away followed her line of sight to where Ryder stood by the dessert table, chatting with a middle-aged man who had very little hair and quite a lot of nose. “Oh—that’s the Dean of Students.”

“Do you know him?”

“Not really, but he was at the meeting when everyone was discussing me becoming Ryder’s apprentice.” Grayson glanced back towards the Headmistress, chewing on his lip. “Hey, do you think it’s weird that—?”

“Grayson! Kara!” Ryder had spotted them. He waved them over jovially. “Come join us! Dean Hammond, this is Kara Baker, one of our first-year students. And perhaps you remember my apprentice?”

The Dean let go of Kara’s hand and squinted at Grayson. “Oh yes, I think I do. So you’re in your third year, then? Remind me of your name?”

“No, I’m a first-year too, sir. Grayson Ives.” Grayson took his hand, privately wondering how the Dean of Students could get OSM’s eleven students mixed up. His critical thoughts softened at the warm, genuine smile that lit up the Dean’s face.

“Ah, right! I recall that meeting now! First semester of your first year complete, eh? I do hope the two of you haven’t found your move to Oppendorff too rough! The first semester is always the hardest, getting used to a new city. Not to mention all the food.”

“It hasn’t been so bad,” said Kara. “I mean, the food is _good.”_

The Dean laughed. “That’s the truth, isn’t it? Speaking of which, I’d better take dessert back to my wife before she thinks I’ve stolen it all away. Very nice meeting the two of you. And happy Midwinter, Ryder.”

“Happy Midwinter.” Ryder nodded warmly at the Dean before turning towards Grayson and Kara with a smile. “And how are things with the first-year class this evening? Are you enjoying the festivities?”

“They’re all right,” said Kara, a little guardedly.

“Just all right? Hmm. Where are Malia and Bramley?”

Grayson responded when Kara didn’t. “They’re, uh—they’re dancing.”

“Oh, I see.” Ryder tilted his head at them, his eyes lingering a moment on Kara’s face. Then he smiled. “Perhaps the two of you would like to help me with something?”

“Uh, sure. What is it?”

Ryder turned towards the dessert table and surveyed it thoughtfully. “Hmm—why don’t you take that basket of sugar cookies, Grayson? And Kara, perhaps you could grab that cinnamon cake?” He picked up one of the large silver urns of hot chocolate and said, “Follow me.”

“Are you sure we’re allowed to just _take_ these?” Grayson asked, bewildered.

“Nobody has ever told me not to,” said Ryder cheerfully, and he led the way out into the entrance hall. 

There the magelight overhead burned like cold stars, bathing the room in a soft shade of blue. A gust of fresh air tugged at Grayson’s hair, and he realized the some windows had been opened to help dispel the stuffy heat of flickering braziers and sweaty bodies. The music swelled to a crescendo as they edged around the crowded dance floor, alive with a forest of swirling couples.

It was incredibly beautiful. Even Grayson, who had never considered himself much of a romantic, was momentarily swept up by the image—dancing by the glow of magic and fire, tucked away together in a little pocket of shared movement, all warm skin and soft touches and thrilling heartbeats— 

“This way,” said Ryder, ushering Kara and Grayson towards the staircase. They wound their way past footsore couples resting on the steps, climbing up and up until they were higher than the dancers, higher than the musicians in the gallery, all the way up to the third floor landing.

Grayson heard the noise coming from the Soothing Room through the closed doors. Even over the strains of music from the gallery below, it was easy to hear the boisterous sounds of people having fun.

The chatter and laughter exploded into a raucous cheer as soon as they pushed the doors open. “Hey!” someone shouted. “He’s finally brought us dessert!”

“And friends as well,” said Ryder as he set his urn of hot chocolate down on a workbench that had been moved out onto the main floor. “Here—thank you, Grayson, just set that there. And yours can go there, Kara.” His face glowed with barely-suppressed pride as he pushed cups and plates into their hands. “Welcome to the _real_ party. Get yourself some food and drink.”

There were maybe thirty people gathered in the Soothing Room, and Grayson knew exactly one of them—Ina, who was sitting neatly on a beanbag with a cup of wine. Some of the partygoers were relaxing and chatting on beanbags nearby, while others stood and milled about about the food table, and others still were sitting on the floor, crowded around game boards that had been set up on apple crates.

“Is that Farmers and Merchants?” Kara’s face lit up. “That’s my favorite!”

“Then I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly with Hubert and Vivian, they can’t get enough of it,” said Ryder. “I think they’re about to start a new round. Oh, Grayson, one moment—” A tug at Grayson’s shoulder prevented him from following Kara over to the game. Ryder wheeled him around to face a wizened old woman. “Here’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Cornelia. She’s a dear friend of mine. Cornelia, Grayson here is my apprentice.”

Grayson blinked. “Wait a minute, I’ve seen you around. You tend the gardens, don’t you?”

Cornelia’s face split into a cracked smile. “That I do.”

Now that Grayson was thinking about it, he recognized quite a few faces around the room. He’d never spoken to any of  their owners, but he’d seen them tending plants or sweeping floors or checking on the food in the dining hall. 

“The facilities staff is never invited to the Ball itself,” Ryder explained. “So I always tell them they’re welcome to join me up here.”

“Hmph, I wouldn’t want to be invited to the big di-mage party anyway!” Cornelia snorted. “Bunch of silly snobs, all of them. Except you, Ryder, you’re a good one.”

“Wait, _you’re_ not a di-mage?” Grayson asked her.

 Instead of responding, Cornelia raised a hand and did something so quickly with her knobby fingers that Grayson missed what it was. A chocolate cookie lifted itself from the tray on the table and came flying across the room, landing neatly in her palm. “That’s sign magic, honey,” she said, smirking slightly at the look on Grayson’s face. She handed him the cookie. “Try it. Baked by my husband, old Bert down in the kitchens. He always makes a little extra so Ryder can sneak it up.” 

Ignoring his still-full stomach, Grayson took a bite. “It’s really good,” he said politely.

“He’s responsible for my party snacks too,” said Ryder, gesturing to the bowls of cut fruit and tiny sausages. “Good old Bert. Do you think he’ll make it up tonight? Oh—one moment, please do excuse us.” Ryder reached for Grayson’s arm, fingers missing once before catching, and suddenly Grayson wondered how much he’d had to drink. “I must introduce you to Sebastian. He’s one of my oldest friends—a researcher here, who graduated OSM the year before I did.”

Grayson shook hands with Sebastian and listened curiously as he and Ryder began telling stories from their own student days, until Ryder caught sight of another good friend and excused them for another introduction. 

At first, Grayson was eager to escape and go back to Kara. But every time he glanced her direction, she seemed cheerfully absorbed in her game. And with every new introduction, a little kernel of warmth bloomed in Grayson’s heart as he noticed how eager Ryder seemed to show him off. The note of pride with which he introduced Grayson as “my apprentice” only grew more obvious as Ryder filled and refilled his wine glass.

Grayson had a couple more cupfuls of wine himself, but most of what little room remained inside him went to food. Somehow, there was always a bowl or tray being passed around, and Grayson was so caught up in his conversations that he scarcely noticed how much he was snacking. Fresh fruit was exactly what he needed after all the heavy starch of the main meal, and he couldn’t resist the little sausages as soon as he recognized the familiar gamey flavor of venison. Everything was bite-sized too—even as his stomach began to grumble and pulse with little waves of overfullness, it wasn’t hard to convince himself that he could manage one more little chocolate cookie or tiny piece of cinnamon cake. The hot chocolate went down nicely too, filling up the crevices in his stuffed belly with its rich, relaxing warmth.

Eventually, his insides were twinging with every breath and the amount of fun he was having couldn’t quite outweigh his desire to lie down. He glanced around for Kara and spotted her over by the food table, helping herself to more wine.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” he asked, touching her shoulder as he came up behind her.

“M’good,” she said, in a way that made Grayson guess this wasn’t the first time she’d refilled her cup. “Looks like things are winding down though. Maybe we should head back?” 

Grayson nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I’m just about partied out.” 

“Partied out? Nonsense!” Ryder seemed to appear out of nowhere, beaming as he handed Grayson another cup of wine. “The night is still young.”

“Uh….” Grayson frowned at the cup of wine and set it down on the table, wondering vaguely what had happened to his fussy, respectable mentor. “No thanks. I think I’ve had enough.”

Kara giggled. “I’m impressed, Ryder. You haven’t lost your Sumorian spirit.”

The smile slipped suddenly from Ryder’s face, replaced by a sharp glance. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know. Nobody throws a party like we do back home.” 

The slightest bit of wine sloshed over the edge of Ryder’s glass he snorted disapprovingly. “I might remind you that I left Sumoria as a young child. My festive sensibilities were developed far later in life. _I_ would say I throw parties like a di-mage. _”_

“I’d second that.” Grayson pressed a supportive hand against his straining stomach. “Ugh, I was full when I got here, but now I can hardly breathe.” 

“Well, you’d better free up some room, because there’s still a lot of food to finish.” Ryder glanced around the room as he tipped the half dozen remaining cookies onto a plate with the cinnamon cake and consolidated a couple half-empty bowls of sausage. “And not many guests left to finish it! I’m going to need some di-mages to help me.” 

“But I’m _full,”_ Grayson complained. “How am I supposed to free up room? Puke?” 

Ryder wrinkled his nose. “Certainly not. Come on now, Grayson, what would you do if you were casting? You’re a soother, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, but you mostly have me sorting herbs and mopping floors.” He paused, realizing how insolent he’d sounded. “Not that I have a problem with that. I know it’s important. It’s just, I haven’t learned a whole lot about the part of soothing that involves, you know, actual bellies.”

Ryder tipped his head in concession. “Well, practicing on yourself is a good start.” He set his glass down on the table and placed a hand against his own belly, which was noticeably rounded out under his sweater. “Try rubbing very gently over this upper part. You’ll have a lot of food sitting in your stomach there, the pressure will ease when it works its way down. Good rubs will keep everything settled, allowing you a few more bites.” He began massaging his stomach with one hand and picking over the remaining snacks with the other.

Tentatively, Grayson touched the sore place where his belly had swollen out from under his ribs. Even the lightest pressure sent a small burp slipping up to freedom.

“Very good!” said Ryder. “See? You’ve got a natural touch.”

Grayson privately felt he was full enough that any sort of touch would have dislodged that burp, but he kept that to himself. Slowly, he began to feel around the tight curve of his upper belly, wincing as his stomach squeezed inside him.

“Let me.” Suddenly Kara was pressed up against him, her hand nudging his away. “Yikes, look at this big tummy.” Her fingers pressed into Grayson’s bulging sides, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft groan as the light pressure eased the tension there. Her soft touch worked its way over to the grumbly tightness under his ribs, smoothing circles over the ache of his packed stomach and pressing up another soft belch.

“Mmmm, that feels so good,” he mumbled. “How come I’m the soother, but Kara is way better at this than I am?”

Kara laughed. “Maybe you picked the wrong first-year, Ryder.”

“No offense meant, Kara, but I’m very confident in my choice.” Ryder paused to stifle a soft burp behind his hand. “First thing next semester, you’ll learn how to soothe properly, Grayson,” he promised. “It’s high time I gave you that lesson.”

“How are _you_ doing, Kara?” Grayson slipped an arm around her waist and tried to feel the side of her belly, but before he could, she turned into his embrace and slumped against his shoulder.

“You’re a hell of a good friend, Ives,” she said, voice slurring a little. “You know that? ‘Cause I mean it. You didn’t have to spend your whole night chasing around after mopey old me.”

He nestled his cheek into her hair. “Are you kidding? This night has been a blast. Without you, I would’ve just been sitting alone down there, staring awkwardly at Malia and Bramley.” 

“Nah… you could’ve gone looking for Elliott.”

Grayson’s stomach suddenly felt a little sour. “Yeah, right,” he said, “so he could’ve ruined my day _again_.”

“Well, maybe you could’ve found yourself some other guy, then.”

“Maybe _you_ should sit down.” Grayson took her arm and pulled her encouragingly towards the beanbags, gently taking the wine glass from her hand. “I think you’ve had enough.” 

She let out a dizzy laugh as he eased her onto a beanbag. “Nooo, you can’t put me here. We can’t leave Ryder to deal with that snack table alone. He’ll explode.”

“He won’t explode, he’s not an idiot.”

“I think he will. Look how swollen up his tummy is.”

Grayson glanced up to where Ryder was still hovering over the table, one hand resting on a very bowed-out stomach, the other alternating between swiping up sausage pieces and sips of wine. “Look, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m not full yet.” Kara craned her neck. “Is there any of that cinnamon cake left? That was so fucking good.” 

Grayson sighed. “I’ll go look.” 

“Just bring the whole plate,” Kara called after him, and he obliged, carrying the tray of cake and cookies back to where Kara was waiting and sinking into a beanbag himself.

“Thanks,” said Kara. She reached for a slice of cinnamon cake, and against Grayson’s better judgment, he took one too.

They ate in silence for a long moment. Then Kara said, “I hope I didn’t wreck your night.”

“Actually, I couldn’t think of a better way to end it.” Grayson brushed the crumbs from his jacket and reached for a cookie, ignoring the soft grumbles of his stomach. “It’s been fun, Kara. Let’s enjoy the last of it.”

Kara hummed her assent. A little hiccup escaped her as she swallowed another bite of cake, and Grayson reached over to rest a comforting hand on her stomach. She scooted up close to him, and he tightened his grip on her as he slowly nibbled at his cookie. 

His stomach felt almost unbearably full once it was down, and he sank into something like a stupor, pressed down into the beanbag by the heaviness of his belly and the warmth of his friend. The dull chatter of the last few guests in the room had nearly lulled him to sleep when Kara’s voice roused him. 

“Oooh, there’s only a little left….”

Grayson opened one eye. “Hmm?” 

“On the plate.” Kara gestured to the tray balancing between them, which held a couple mouthfuls of cake and two chocolate cookies. “But I’m _so_ full….”

Grayson rubbed a circle over her belly. He could feel it gurgling under his hand, incredibly firm and round. “Yeah, you are. Just leave it.”

“You’ve gotta finish it for me, Ives.”

“Ugh, I can’t.”

“Why not?” 

“Because my stomach felt like it was gonna explode before the last cookie I ate.” Grayson took his hand momentarily off her bloated belly to rub at his own. “Seriously, I’m beyond stuffed. Just leave it.”

“But I don’t want—”

“Oh, give it here,” said a voice, and Grayson glanced up to see Ryder scooping the tray away from the two of them. His stomach sloshed audibly as he settled himself down on a beanbag nearby, but that didn’t stop him from picking up a cookie and consuming it in a couple methodical bites.

“I can’t believe you,” was the only thing Grayson could think of to say.

“Really? I _am_ a di-mage, you know,” Ryder said with the barest hint of smugness. As if to disagree with him, the swollen mound of his belly let out an angry grumble. Ryder simply rested a hand on it.

“You don’t look very… uh… comfortable....”

“I’m _satisfied,”_ Ryder insisted. “Or, well, nearly.” He began kneading gently at his belly, as though trying to convince it to make a little more room.

Grayson might’ve questioned that more, but all his thoughts had been suddenly swallowed by a sensation in his own stomach. It was not a stomachache, exactly—it didn’t hurt. It was more like an intense awareness of just how full he was, just how much food was packed inside him.

Across from him, Ryder finished his last bite with a rather forced swallow and then let out a heavy sigh. “Ohhh my. _Now_ I’m satisfied. I don’t think I could get up if I wanted to. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Grayson, too, could not have gotten up if his life depended on it. Kara was so warm against him, heavy and relaxed, her breathing slow and soft.

Ryder’s voice began swimming in his ears. “I’ve always found it curious how it’s possible to feel an extremely full stomach throb in time with your heartbeat. What do you think causes that? A quirk of circulation, perhaps? Or maybe the stomach walls become stretched so taut that they can pick up the slightest vibrations? ….Are you all right, Grayson?” 

Grayson tried to speak, but it came out as a moan. “Yeah, I just… ughhh…. I ate too much….”

“I’m sure I could convince myself to get up to fetch you a tonic.”

“No, it… it’s good,” he mumbled. “Just… nghhh….” 

He nestled deeper into the beanbag and rested one hand over his stretched, pulsing stomach. He could feel his huge meal shifting and grumbling under his fingers, but it didn’t hurt—rather, it lulled him straight to sleep.

\- - -

When Grayson woke up again, everything had gone still. The Soothing Room was silent, and pitch-dark aside from a slice of orange electric light coming from somewhere near the door. 

He shifted on his beanbag, biting back a groan. He felt too warm, and a little sore from sleeping in such an awkward position. Someone had draped a blanket over him, and as he squirmed out from under it, he realized two things. One, Kara was gone. And two, he really had to pee.

Getting up was a struggle. The tightness in his stomach had loosened, but his lower belly felt heavy and rounded, and he pressed a supportive hand underneath as he stood, groaning softly. As he blinked the heaviness out of his eyes, he noticed that the door between the Soothing Room and the hallway was slightly ajar, letting light from the hallway spill through the crack.

He didn’t see Kara out in the hallway, or down the corridor where the bathrooms were. Maybe, he mused, she’d gone back up to her room, like he was thinking of doing himself. The beanbags were comfortable enough, but he could practically hear the warm blankets and soft mattress of his bed calling his name…. 

But then, as he exited the bathroom, he heard something else. 

The sound was muffled, but unmistakable. Down near the end of the corridor, behind a nondescript door, someone was sobbing.

“Oh no,” he murmured, heading for the sound. “Kara? You should’ve woken me u—!”

He pulled the door open and froze.

It was Elliott. He was sitting against the back wall of the broom closet with his arms curled around his knees, undeniably in tears.

“Creator’s blood!” Conflicting feelings coursed through Grayson—alarm, pity, sympathy, disgust—but in the end, his kindness won out. He crouched down and asked, “Elliott? Are you all right?” 

Elliott raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, but hostility still burned black in them. “Fuck. Not you. Leave me ‘lone…!”

Grayson realized that he smelled powerfully like alcohol. “Are you—are you drunk?” 

It was a pointless question with an obvious answer. Elliott was so incredibly drunk that he didn’t seem to comprehend what Grayson had said. He shifted agitatedly on the floor and slurred, “Shut it! The fucking door! I… I can’t, I don’t… don’t know where I am….”

“You’re in a broom cupboard, Elliott. On the third floor, down the hall from the Soothing Room.” Grayson pushed the door to, leaving just enough light spilling through the crack that he could see the shine of dampness on Elliott’s cheeks. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Shut the fucking—” Elliott interrupted himself with a hiccup and then choked out something that was half-cough, half-sob. “Ugh, _fuck,_ I don’t know what—I don’t….”

“You don’t have a clue what I’m saying, do you?” Grayson took his wrist, sighing, and tried to help him up. “Come on, you need to get to bed. Where’s your room? I’ll help you get back, I guess.”

Elliott resisted his pull like a sullen child. “No,” he sniffed. “No no no. Can’t go out.” 

“Well, you sure can’t spend the night here.”

“Can’t go out. Nobody can see me like— _hic_ —like this.” He pressed a hand over his mouth as he hiccuped again. “Fuck.” 

“It’s the middle of the night. We’re probably the only two people in this whole building who are awake. Come _on._ ”

Ignoring the voice in the back of his head asking him what on earth he was doing, Grayson pulled and tugged until he managed to get Elliott on his feet. He threw one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulder and dragged him out into the hallway. 

The lamplight made Elliott hiss and flinch. “Aaah, what the _fuck…”_

His reeling nearly brought them both down, and Grayson growled as he braced himself against it. The feeling of Elliott’s body pressing hard against his own was causing unwanted thoughts to curl insidiously in his head, and a burst of anger filled him as he fought them down. “What do you mean, what the fuck?” he snapped. "I’m trying to help you, asshole! Creator only knows why I’m _bothering,_ after you wouldn’t even fucking talk to me the other day, but here I am! So you could at least try to walk!”

“Can’t….” Elliott groaned, hunching over. “I can’t, I’m—I’m gonna puke.” 

“Well, why don’t you _do your best to keep it down?!_ ” Grayson felt a brief stab satisfaction—spitting Elliott’s own words back at him, steeped in scorn and venom—before flinching shamefully at the sound of his own voice. 

What was he _doing,_ snarling at someone who could barely stand, who was gasping back tears? Since when had he been so cruel? Wasn’t he the kid who’d shouted at his classmates to quit bullying the younger kids on the playground, not caring how unpopular as it had made him? Hadn’t he spent his whole childhood flinching as he followed the blood trails of deer he hadn’t quite hit in the vitals, wishing he could’ve just killed the wretched things in a single shot? Wasn’t he better than this?

He had let Elliott’s shitty temper get to him long enough. Grayson Ives was not a cruel man. 

He cleared his throat and said more gently, “I have ginger tonic in my room. I’ll give you some. Fuck it, you can just sleep there, okay? I’ll take the floor or something.” He shifted Elliott’s weight off his shoulders, leaving a steadying arm around his back. “Come on. I can’t carry you, you need to walk. Just keep your mouth shut and you’ll be fine.”

Elliott must’ve honestly been feeling ill, because he did shut his mouth and stumbled docilely where Grayson led him. His thick, sniffly hiccups were the only sound that followed them down the empty hallways. It wasn’t until they were safely in the apartment, making their way up the steps, that he started up again with his drunken mumbling.

“Are you trying to tell me something important?” Grayson asked wearily. Elliott had been leaning on him more and more with every step, and his own exhaustion was catching up to him. His head felt fuzzy and his stomach was cramping a little, unhappy with so much exertion while it was still trying to digest.

Elliott’s slurred sounds resolved themselves into a couple laborious words: “Don’t know.”

“Great.” Grayson shifted his grip and tugged Elliott up the next step as he faltered. “Come on then. We’re almost there.”

Elliott swallowed thickly and tried again. “I don’t know what….”

“You don’t know what’s happening?” Grayson guessed. “I’m taking you somewhere you can sleep. And take tonic,” he added as Elliott shuddered with a stifled retch. “Please don’t throw up now, we’re so damn close.”

It was an effort for both of them, but finally Grayson managed to guide Elliott quietly through the dark study and into his bedroom. He switched on the light and deposited Elliott gently on the end of the bed. 

“Wait there,” he said, somewhat pointlessly, as Elliott sagged forward like a half-empty sack of flour. “I’m going to find you a tonic.”

Ryder had given him a new box just the previous week, and Grayson hadn’t used any of the ginger ones yet. He carefully withdrew a vial from its slot and then turned back to Elliott, whose breathing had gone harsh and shaky. “You all right?”

“I can’t,” Elliott mumbled. He folded his arms over his belly and hunched over, a fresh wave of tears dripping down his cheeks. “I c-can’t do it, I can’t, I c-c-can’t… I d-don’t… I don’t kn-know….” 

Despite himself—despite everything—Grayson felt his heart ache. He sighed deeply. “Elliott….”

Elliott looked at him, red-eyed, and mumbled thickly, “I don’t… know what… to _do._ ”

“Start by drinking this.” Grayson pushed the vial into his hand. 

Elliott blinked down at it. Recognition flickered in his bleary gaze. He raised the vial to his lips, swallowed the tonic, and let his eyes flutter closed in obvious relief. 

“Feel better?” Grayson asked.

Elliott nodded.

“Good.” Grayson plucked the empty vial away. “Now go to sleep. You can explain what the hell all this was about in the morning, all right?”

The word “sleep” seemed to have caught something in Elliott’s mind. He stared hazily around himself, as though he’d just realizing he was sitting on a bed. Clumsily, he crawled up to put his head on Grayson’s pillow and burrow under the covers. A long, shuddering sigh rose from him, and then he was still.

Grayson spent a long moment standing in the middle of the room. It wouldn’t be _bad_ , sleeping on the floor. He’d slept on much worse than his soft, clean bedroom carpet. But he was already stiff from falling asleep in the Soothing Room, and his bed was easily big enough for two people…. 

In the end, he made a compromise. He would get in bed with Elliott, but he would leave his clothes on, instead of sleeping in his underwear like he usually did.

Grayson turned out the light, rounded the bed, and gingerly tucked himself under the edge of the blanket. He stayed as far to one side as he could, mindful of the fact that his bedmate was drunk out of his skull. But when Elliott curled up against him, harmless as a plucked bird and still leaking silent tears, Grayson couldn’t help but wrap his arm around Elliott’s shoulder and rub gently over his back until he settled.

\- - - 

Grayson woke up the next morning alone.

He might’ve thought the whole incident was nothing but a vivid dream, fueled by alcohol and sexual frustration, except that the covers on the far side of his bed were neatly made in a way he never ever did himself. When he checked the box on his dresser, a single vial of ginger tonic was missing.

“Don’t believe this,” he grumbled to himself as he brushed his teeth. “How did he even _wake up_ before me?” It didn’t seem fair that somebody _that_ drunk could’ve somehow regained consciousness so early.

There was no sign of Elliott downstairs, but Kara was already awake, sipping at a mug of black coffee. She glanced up at as Grayson approached and said, “Morning. How you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he said truthfully as he poured a mug for himself. He really hadn’t been all that drunk the night before. If he had been, he might’ve felt a bit less confused.

“You didn’t sleep in the Soothing Room either, huh?”

“Nope. Came back in the middle of the night.” Grayson swirled his coffee nervously. He ought to tell Kara what had happened. But part of him wanted to hold the memory close, keep it just for himself.

“Me too. The beanbags are nice for like, three hours. But then your back starts hurting.” Kara sighed and rubbed a hand over her face.

Grayson took a big gulp of coffee and peered at her, concerned. “Are you okay, Kara? Honestly?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m just—I’m glad we’re going home tomorrow. I need to get out of this town and get my head on straight.”

“A break will probably do us all good,” Grayson agreed.

“But in spite of everything, I really did have fun last night, Ives. So thanks for that. You’re a good friend.”

“So’re you, Kara. Never doubt it.” Grayson swallowed the last of his coffee and dropped his empty mug in the sink. “Sorry, I’ll wash that up later.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Going somewhere?”

“Oh, yeah, I, uh—gotta go ask Ryder something. Be back soon.”

Grayson’s feet carried him towards the Soothing Room, as though they were determined to ensure that what he’d told Kara would not be a lie. The hallways were eerily quiet. Lessons were over and it seemed that most people hadn’t seen much reason to get out of bed. But Ryder was dutifully attending the Soothing Room, as always, although he looked rather like his body hadn’t forgiven him for the previous night’s wine intake.

“Grayson,” he said, voice just slightly hoarse. “You really don’t need to be here today.”

“I don’t know if _you_ should be here today,” Grayson countered. He couldn’t help but notice that the magical lights were dimmer than usual, and the strong scent of ginger coming from the steaming mug on Ryder’s desk.

Ryder gave him a slightly affronted look, before sighing and admitting, “I’m not, really. Just tidying up after last night. I’m nearly done. Did you need something?”

“Yeah, uh—have you seen Elliott?” 

“Elliott?” Ryder looked surprised. “No, I haven’t seen him in quite some time. I don’t think he even attended the Ball last night. Which didn’t surprise me frankly—but perhaps he has an excuse. Ina passed by this morning to retrieve a sweater she’d left here and mentioned seeing him in the hallway. Apparently he seems to be ill.”

 _I would think so_ , Grayson thought to himself. He did not envy Elliott that hangover. 

Aloud, he said, “I have a… a question for him. About, uh… our tutorials.” 

“Well, I’m not sure you’ll catch him before winter break. The Vales tend to set off for their family home in Kingswood the day after the Ball. I expect they’ll be gone by tonight.”

Grayson had to bite back a curse word. “Fu—uh, f-fun,” he stammered. “For them. I’m sure. Um—all right. Thanks Ryder. Have a good Midwinter, if I don’t see you before I leave.”

“You too, Grayson. Be safe. I’ll see you in the new semester.”

Grayson’s thoughts were spinning as he stepped out into hallway. Part of him wanted to roam the school until he found Elliott’s room, or go to the Headmistress’s office and ask after her son. Another part of him knew that that would be absolutely insane.

“This is crazy,” he murmured aloud. “I’m acting crazy.” But he could scarcely help it. He could feel his body tingling with the memory of it—Elliott’s forehead against his chest, Elliott’s shoulder under his arm.

 _Oh Creator,_ he thought miserably, _I’m honestly attracted to him, aren’t I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and thus ends Grayson's first semester!
> 
> Just a warning that it may take longer than usual for me to post the next chapter. Seeing as this is more or less the story's halfway point, I want to take some time to work on other projects before diving into the second semester. The plans include a short side story about Malia's adventures over winter break, a long-overdue follow-up for my recurring vampire character, and some requests. So if you're interested in any of this, catch up with me on [my tumblr.](https://ginger-and-mint.tumblr.com/)


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